


It's Not Over Til It's Done

by M_Renoir



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, NaNoWriMo 2019, Post-War, Ratings and tags may change, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Severus Snape Lives, background oc/oc - Freeform, severus hates himself you heard it here first folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-13 03:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 55,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21487921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Renoir/pseuds/M_Renoir
Summary: Severus did not expect to survive the Second Wizarding War, but survive he did. Remus didn't either, yet due to unforeseen circumstances, Remus finds himself taking care of Severus in the wake of surviving Nagini's venom.Meanwhile, trouble is brewing in the Muggle world, as murmurs are stirring about the existence of a previously unseen community hidden right beneath everyone's noses. One man stands to topple centuries of well-kept secrets and expose the Wizarding to the Muggle community... And not for everyone's benefit.
Relationships: Remus Lupin/Severus Snape
Comments: 45
Kudos: 83





	1. Prologue/Chapter 1: Not Dead Yet

**Author's Note:**

> i did it. 
> 
> I did it. 
> 
> I DID IT.
> 
> NaNoWriMo can suck my ass and that's that
> 
> Special thanks to Alois mun aka solemn-vow for letting me borrow her son and for getting roped into being my beta lol thank you, you've suffered through so much of me complaining about this fic

** Prologue **

Corentin “Coren” Tolbert considered himself to be a very practical man. With broad shoulders, a firm chin, and neatly gelled dirty blond hair, the casual observer would be challenged to argue him on that perspective. This did not mean, however, that Coren understood everything that he saw or that he was able to assay every problem that he met. At the same time, every problem--practical problems, that is, as his friend Conagher often said, which didn’t include philosophical problems like what is beauty--had a practical solution. One very practical solution to a very impractical (nay, improbable!) problem lay within a carefully organized briefcase, full of manila folders and carefully printed photographs. Yes, a very, very practical solution, the only clear solution. 

See, Coren Tolbert was a practical man, and he found that a practical solution was always forthcoming when he truly put his head to it. 

“Agent Tolbert,” a voice called from within the main office, and he stood from where he sat in the waiting room, “The executive committee is waiting for you.” 

“Thank you, Miss P.” He gave the overwrought secretary a charming smile and a small nod before he seized his information and strode past the desk and into the conference room. 

Within the oaken double doors lay the appointed representatives from every country, as well as the current President. Coren gave a gracious bow to them before one of the committee members--he thought the woman may have been from France--gestured for him to speak. 

“Good afternoon,” Coren began solemnly, “I thank you for the opportunity for me to present my findings on a matter of grave importance today.” He opened his briefcase and passed out a sheaf of papers. “I have included in the briefing papers an explanation of my discoveries and a short exploration of possible preliminary strategies.” The sound of shuffling papers permeated the room, followed by more than one raised eyebrow. Undaunted, Coren clicked on the projector, and prepared his slides with a brisk tapping of papers and plastic. 

“I would like to present my discoveries on possibly one of the best-kept secrets in Europe--or even, perhaps, the whole world. Today, I would like to present to you the possibility of the existence of a community that lives in the shadows of our world, hiding in plain sight. I have discovered the existence of a people that we thought were restricted to the confines of mythos and children’s stories.” He paused again before looking the President directly in the eye. 

“Wizards.” 

A general uproar met his statement. The room descended into chaos as several members of the board stood and tried to shout him down while others shook their heads in disgust, but the President raised his hand for silence. 

“Elaborate. I assume you haven’t brought this before us to waste our time,” he stated solemnly. Coren nodded and slid his first slide onto the page. 

“As we are all aware, there are multiple inexplicable deaths scattered throughout Europe that were attributed either to natural causes, gas leaks, or other untraceable causes of death.” There were slow nods around the room. “I, naturally, was suspicious. A vast majority of these deaths seemed to center around two periods of time--” He indicated two red circles on the projector. “The first period dates back as far as the early 1940s, and extends until 1981. The second, most recent and more concerning, occurred within three years of today. As some of you may know, there was also a significant commotion in the Scottish highlands that has caused significant concerns. It was this incident that revealed to me the truth.” He slid the slide off of the projector and pushed on his second slide. In stark relief, a tall figure clad in black robes with an ornate skull mask flared to life on the projector screen, pointing a stick in the direction of a second blurry figure wearing similar robes, but no mask or hood. 

“How are we supposed to take this seriously?” the President asked, gesturing to the image. “This could be staged. Two actors.” 

“There’s more, I promise,” Coren continued, seriously. “I am led to believe that this society of Wizards pose a significant danger to our world as we know it, and they’ve been existing right under our noses, possibly for centuries! Take this, for example…” He pulled several slides out and displayed them in rapid succession. “The freak hurricane in ‘96. The inexplicable lightshow in ‘81. Hell, the _ flying car _ reports in ‘92.” 

“Freak storms occur. So do inexplicable lights--” 

“But that’s because they have occurred in the past, yes? Have you ever considered that it’s the same people causing these very same accidents?” Coren threw up a slide about an ancient news report. “The mysterious deaths of the Riddles was a case that _ baffled _ investigators at the time. For such an influential family, the investigation was closed rather quickly for such a mysterious cause of death. The official statement was a gas leak, but no evidence was ever found that the house’s gas main was ever faulty. In addition, there was a rather suspicious family living very close to them. The Gaunts. The last of them also disappeared around the same time--and rumor had it that the Gaunts were haunted or cursed.” Coren pulled up the only picture he could find of any of the members of the Gaunt family--the daughter, Merope, who was hanging off the arm of a handsome young man, who could only be Tom Riddle. He had a somewhat vacuous look on his face. “This was the only picture we ever managed to recover. But--” he barreled onward, before anyone else could interrupt him again. “I have further proof.” 

He nodded towards the agent at the door, and he opened it to admit a skinny, horse-faced woman with a nervous demeanor. She was wearing what was obviously her best dress, which was still rather far below what someone would consider ‘expensive’ and patterned with far too many flowers.

“My witness. Petunia Dursley.” 

The horsey woman swallowed nervously and glanced between the various members of the board. 

“Please tell them what you told me, Mrs. Dursley,” Coren encouraged. Petunia stared for a moment longer before she gathered herself. 

“I raised one of those--those _ freaks _,” she said, firmly. “My sister was one--she married one--I’ve seen what they can do. They’re a true menace. A giant gave my son a pig’s tail! We had to go through surgery--” 

“The papers providing the medical examiner’s testimony and pictures is included in the brief,” Coren supplied helpfully. 

“--And my family and I recently spent nearly eight months held in custody by them,” Petunia spat. “They tore apart my life, and who knows how many others?” The President finally interrupted, holding up a hand. 

“Provided we believe you--which I am still on the fence about, Agent Tolbert--what do you intend on doing about this supposed society of wizards? If they are truly as powerful as you say they are, how can we hope to defeat them?”

“Of course, the first step would be research. I need a designated team of agents--a task force, preferably--to further investigate these wizards. They have proven to be a threat to us in the past, and will no doubt continue to do so in the future. We need to covertly investigate their operations, and…” Coren’s smile took a nasty turn. “Then, we take them by surprise.” 

“They despise us, the non-magical people--” Petunia spat, unable to withhold her temper any longer. “They call us Muggles, and they look down on us, just for not having magic.” Coren nodded. 

“But we’ll prove them wrong, won’t we?” he said. “Please, take into consideration the information I have provided today.” But the council members merely muttered and shook their heads. 

“I’m afraid we cannot act on mere hearsay, Agent Tolbert. However, since you seem to have gathered sufficient evidence to cause concern, we will assign you a small team of agents to investigate these supposed abnormalities. You are dismissed.” Coren gritted his teeth, but nodded. “Thank you, sir. I _ will _ bring back the proof you need.” And with Petunia in tow, he departed.

**Chapter 1 **

_ It’s time, Severus _ . 

_ Time… Time for what? _

_ Time for you to go back. _

_ I find myself rather reluctant to… Go back. _

_ You should. They will miss you. _

_ Somehow, I highly doubt anyone will miss or mourn my absence. _

_ I did, Severus. _

_ How was I supposed to kn-- _

_ I know, too little, too late. I’m sorry… But you deserve a chance to live without the shadow of war haunting your every step. You-- _ we _ \--grew up with it, and most of us died in it… You know this as well as I do. Of course, if you do want to pass on, you may. This is a crossroads, after all. You’re on the brink, Severus. You have a choice--one that James and I did not. Please don’t waste this chance for a life, Severus. You know I always wanted the best for you. _

_ Please don’t go. _

_ Goodbye, Sev. _

_ Lily… _

_ Please… _

_ Don’t go… _

Severus woke with a start, his chest heaving and hair sticking to his face. A sudden pain lanced through his neck and back, and he nearly yelped in pain. If it weren’t for years of practice biting back any indication of pain, he might have. The Shrieking Shack was dark--his mouth tasted overwhelmingly like blood and, oddly, some kind of grass-like mulch that was not so much refreshing as revolting. He wanted to throw up, but found himself stuck to the rotten wood behind him by his own blood. How long had he been lying here? 

Suddenly, the events of the evening rushed back to him. Nagini. Voldemort. _ Potter _ . With a sudden power he had no idea was left in his exhausted body, Severus wrenched one hand from the wall and dug into the folds of his robes. He had Blood Replenishing Potion stocked in small, breakable capsules and… He felt around for a bezoar in its usual place, but found that it was, mysteriously, gone. That explained the grassy taste in his mouth. After a few aborted attempts and one wasted capsule of precious potion, he managed to get enough blood flowing in his body again to muster the energy to move away from the wall. He needed to get to his stores--the antivenin he had been developing was almost finished, all he needed was the venom itself… But returning to the castle was going to be nearly impossible. He thought he could hear the battle in the distance, but he was too far away to tell. The Shrieking Shack was just barely inside the anti-Apparition zone that surrounded Hogwarts, and if he wanted to leave, he would have to walk down towards Hogsmeade. At this time of night, he would just be yet another shadow in the darkness. 

Possessed by strength that he wasn’t aware he had, Severus pushed himself forward, taking one painful step after another. His whole body trembled like a leaf in a thunderstorm, and he could barely hold his wand steady. No, he couldn’t Apparate like this. He’d splinch himself, and save _ someone _ the trouble of finding him and killing him. That, or seriously offend someone when they had to recover his body or find the missing bits of him in their morning cup of tea. 

The castle, then. He needed to get back into the castle. It was his only other viable option, aside from dying in the Shack, which he did not intend on doing. He was brewing an antivenin in the dungeons and there would be access to the Floo in his quarters...He could take the antivenin and Floo to Spinner’s End. Then, he could worry about what came next. He gritted his teeth and distantly wondered why he didn’t just give up. Some dogged, stubborn part of him just  _ refused _ to die, no matter what. 

Severus slowly clambered his way out of the tunnel under the Whomping Willow, giving the little knot a rap that nearly had him toppling back into the tunnel. There was another tunnel he used, one that led directly to the Headmaster’s office, but that was too perilously far from the dungeons, where he kept the potion. He cracked another capsule of Blood Replenishing Potion between his teeth and ignored the prickling feeling that the potion left behind in his extremities. Belatedly, he clamped a hand over the wound, hissing as it burned and twinged in protest to the rough treatment. 

As he crept up to the castle, he wondered why everything had gone quiet. Just moments ago, he was seeing flashes and hearing shouts and… With the sun rising on the horizon, he didn’t dare stay any longer. Keeping to the shadows, he limped slowly through the debris of the ruined castle, stepping over rubble and the occasional body. He saw thought he saw Dolohov lying like a ragdoll on the ground, and his robes brushed against the boot of some other Death Eater. He took a tiny corridor behind a tapestry of three witches nursing hangovers (or at least, those were the usual occupants of the tapestry, because at the moment, it was empty, much like the rest of the portraits in the castle). The corridor to the dungeons was thankfully empty and largely undamaged, which meant he could navigate much easier. 

The sound of footsteps above him, tempered by the stone walls, made him pause and shrink into the shadows of an alcove, his heart making strange skipping motions and his breath coming in tiny, near-silent gasps. Several long moments passed, and when no one appeared and the footsteps faded, he continued, stumbling along the corridor with his robes sagging under the weight of his own blood. 

Finally, he pushed open the door to his old lab, the familiar smell of pickled newt tails and other potion ingredients greeting his nose. He could feel a migraine coming on, whether from stress, blood loss, or both, he wasn’t sure, but he stumbled to the back corner where a cauldron was simmering under a stasis spell. It looked undisturbed, thank Merlin. He waved a shaky hand over the cauldron to wandlessly disable the stasis spell. With his wand, he carefully siphoned some of his own blood off of the hand that was clutching the wound, hoping that the venom would still be active in the blood, and dropped it into the cauldron. The antivenin burbled angrily and turned a virulent green, then poisonous pink, before finally settling somewhere between mud brown and snakeskin. Good enough. Severus used a ladle to slosh a reasonable amount into a nearby flask and downed it, not caring if it seared his throat or splashed over the front of his robes. The foul-smelling (and even fouler-tasting) antivenin staining his robes were the least of his problems at the moment. Finally, he heaved himself to the fireplace, grabbing at a jar on the mantle. With a loud crash, it fell onto the floor, and too exhausted to fix it, Severus merely snatched a handful of the powder and dashed it into the fire. 

“Spinner’s End!” he croaked, his voice ragged and torn, before he spun away into the green darkness. 

The voices, much like the very bright light, slowly filtered through to Remus’s consciousness. He wondered what could be so tragic about a wife and a little boy. That bothered him. There  _ should _ be something wrong with that, right? He very much wanted a roast beef sandwich. These thoughts made sense. The voices sounded very much like they were talking as if he was not present in the room, or not awake enough to bother talking. 

He wanted to move, to say something, but his body wasn’t obeying. 

There had been something about James, Sirius, and Lily, all together with Harry… Something about death, and the very end. Harry had asked if it hurt. Remus remembered thinking that Sirius was a fat liar when he had claimed it was rather like falling asleep. It was not. Remus certainly did not feel like he was waking up from a deep sleep. In fact, it felt like… Well, he felt like he was returning from the dead. Perhaps he _ had _ been dead moments ago, and he hadn’t realized it. The corners of his eyes twitched as he was seized with the sudden urge to laugh. 

“_Merlin’s great saggy-- _ ” someone shrieked, before cutting herself off. Remus thought it sounded rather like Madame Pomfrey, but Madame Pomfrey never swore. If only Sirius was around to hear... “ _ Remus _ ?!” There was a pause as Remus felt the trickling of a spell wash over him before the woman gasped, and suddenly, there were hands on his face, hands forcing his mouth open, hands pouring a citrus-scented and dragon dung flavored potion down his throat. He coughed and choked, his body instinctively rejecting the horrid flavor, but those hands massaged his throat until the whole potion went down. 

“How are you--You’re--Never mind that, we all thought you were…” the woman fretted as she waved her wand over him again. A sudden tranquility washed over Remus, enough to galvanize him towards another attempt at speaking.

“Guh,” he managed to say, very eloquently. 

“Oh--Oh my stars… You’re _ alive _,” she whispered. Remus finally managed to crack open one eye, and saw a blurry figure leaning over him that must have been Madame Pomfrey. Beyond her, he thought he could make out other shapes moving, but before he could truly reflect on any of the happenings, his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell back into blissful darkness. 

The next time Remus woke, he was comfortable, more comfortable than he remembered being in a very long time. Everything smelled and felt awfully clean, including the cloth of the bed sheets currently covering him. He opened his eyes slowly, which was a more difficult task than he anticipated, because they had been crusted together. 

Around him, the curtains were drawn, and it was dark. Night must have fallen again at some point, because there was absolutely no way Remus found himself _ this _ comfortable on the same night as the battle. The last thing he remembered--oh Merlin, _ Dora _ \--he sat bolt upright in the cot. 

Or, rather, he tried to. When he made to sit up, his body protested so much that even if he was able to break past the _ Incarcerous _ that someone had set on him, he would not have been able to make it far before he fell again. 

Dora… She was… She was dead. He wanted to cry, to scream, possibly to punch something. Remus had never been a particularly violent man, but in that moment, he desperately wanted to punch something. Or possibly claw and bite it, depending. The moon was not close enough for him to justify these feelings. He settled to stew impotently in the bed. 

Footsteps jarred him out of his thoughts, and a door opened. A pair of half-moon glasses and a kind smile slid the curtains open with a soft swish and metallic clatter of rings. Remus couldn’t help himself. 

“Dumbledore…?” he gasped out incredulously. 

“Sorry,” the Healer--who was young, not old, and was quite clean shaven, with neatly gelled black hair--chuckled softly, “I’m afraid you have the wrong man. Glad to see you’re awake though, Mr. Lupin,” he greeted quietly, levitating a large bag to one side of him. Remus could barely make out the Healer’s nametag, which declared him as Associate Head Healer Alois Dietrich. 

“Where…?” Remus rasped out, his eyes begging for answers. “... Dora…” The Healer’s eyes took on a sympathetic glint as he pulled a few vials of potions out of his bag. 

“You’re in St. Mungos,” the Healer informed him, his voice calm but not condescending. Remus appreciated that more than the Healer could know. “We decided that, for your privacy, we would house you independently.” 

“Not because…?” Remus almost didn’t want to ask. The Healer’s gaze hardened minutely. 

“No,” he replied firmly, before holding out one of the potions. “Here. This is Pain Relieving Tonic, it should allow you some relief when you wake again in the morning. The others are for Nerve Regeneration.” Remus wanted to inform Healer Dietrich that traditional potions had a lessened effect on him due to his increased metabolism, but found himself unable to protest as the potions were pressed to his lips and poured one after the other with practiced efficiency. 

“And a small dose of Dreamless Sleep.” A final vial was held out, which Remus drank without complaint. Either Healer Dietrich wasn’t aware that he was giving potions to a werewolf, or he didn’t care. Before Remus could thank the Healer, he was already drifting out again, but he thought he managed to catch the very end of the long look that the Healer was giving him before he left the ward.   
  


The next time Remus woke, the first person he saw was James--no--_Harry _ . 

“Remus!” the boy half-shouted, before he quieted quickly. “You’re--You’re alive… Oh God…” He looked on the verge of tears.

Remus desperately wanted to reassure Harry, but found himself at a loss for words. In addition, it felt like his mouth had glued itself together at some point during the night, and otherwise refused to cooperate with him. Harry glanced around. The curtains were still drawn, although the muted sunlight that filtered through was occasionally punctuated by a sharp ray that cut through a gap in the cloth. Belatedly, he realized that the _ Incarcerous _ had been lifted, although he still doubted if he could go anywhere in his condition. 

“When Madame Pomfrey said you were breathing, I was nearly beside myself--” he looked shaken. “There… I was so worried…” He pressed a hand over his mouth, as if covering a sob, and Remus found his heart breaking all over again. Harry had been through so much… Speaking of Harry, he suddenly remembered his hallucination again. He wondered if it was real or not. It was like he had been seeing Harry through a greyed veil, if he remembered correctly. Sirius, James, and Lily, however, were clear, as if they were on the same side of the veil as him, although their voices had been garbled, like some invisible barrier separated them. He wondered again if he had died and come back. 

“--recovery,” Harry was babbling, looking like he was doing his best to stave off tears by not giving them time to fall. 

“What?” Remus croaked, questioningly. 

“Oh!” Harry looked apologetic. “Sorry, I know I shouldn’t be talking so much, it must be incredibly overwhelming, I just…” 

“Don’t,” Remus replied, and at Harry’s stricken look, he tried to elaborate. “Don’t apologize… Talk.” 

“Oh… They said you must have survived because… There was a curse, see, that someone tried to cast on you moments before death. It was supposed to bring out the wolf in you--it wasn’t totally successful, obviously, but it must have had some kind of effect on your body because it let you just barely survive the next curse hurled at you. Instead of dying, they said you went into this weird stasis that allowed your body to stabilize enough to survive.” 

Remus let his mind chew on Harry’s words for awhile, long enough for the boy--Harry would always be a boy to him, no matter his age--to start fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat. 

“I’m sure the Healers can tell you more about it, if you’d like,” Harry offered, quietly. Remus nodded, his words failing him. His curse had saved him. He wondered briefly if it was a curse in and of itself that the wolf had so many built-in survival tools. The heightening of his senses around the full moon, the general increase in his metabolism (which did not help his perpetual state of poverty), and of course, a slight increase in potential for physical strength, all meant to prolong him--and by extension the curse’s--existence on earth. As if wizards didn’t already have a long enough lifespan. Remus wondered somewhat deliriously if the real reason why wizards were so scared of werewolves was that werewolves had the potential to live much longer than them at the price of turning into a raving beast every month or so. 

“Yes,” he replied, slowly. “I’d… Like that…” His voice broke towards the end, so he stopped. It seemed that talking and moving would still be too much of an ordeal for him to consistently try at the moment. Harry gave him a sympathetic look. 

“Are you in pain? Do you need any water, or food? I can call Healer Dietrich?” he offered, beseechingly. Remus shook his head, then nodded.

“When you…” He tried to motion with his head to Harry, indicating that he wanted Harry to stay as long as he could first. 

“When I… When I go?” Harry asked slowly. “Sure. I’ll let him know on the way out.” He fidgeted some more, tugging absently at the corners of Remus’s blanket. “We won… You know. I killed him. I killed Voldemort.” 

Remus nodded, unable to say much more, but wondered what the price was, nonetheless. _ Too high _ , a snide voice in his head whispered. _ Too high. _

“And… You should’ve seen Mrs. Weasley,” he continued, his eyes widening. “She--she got Bellatrix, after everything--You should’ve seen her… It was… It was fantastic.” Remus could believe it. Molly, despite all appearances, was actually a very accomplished witch. She had been particularly good at Charms while in school, from what he could remember, and was in the Order for a reason. Harry’s face darkened, shaking Remus from his thoughts. “But not before Bellatrix got a lot of people…” He glanced at Remus and shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. “Sorry--It’s just… It’s just hard to talk about the war without talking about the people who’re dead.” His voice caught, and for a moment, Remus wondered if Harry would cry again. It would be good for him, at any rate, to let those feelings out. Harry was far too young to carry a burden as heavy as all the magical people in Britain. “They’re gonna hold a funeral in a week, for everyone who died in the battle. Tonks… Tonks will be in it. I managed to get Sirius in as well--he was exonerated posthumously,” he laughed humorlessly, and Remus felt his chest tighten with grief--both for Sirius and for Harry’s lost laughter, “I’m still trying to get them to put Snape on it.” That caused Remus to raise an eyebrow. 

“Oh--” Harry’s eyes widened again. “Right, you don’t know--See, he was on our side all along. No one saw that coming. He gave me his memories right before… Right before he died. I saw his side of things.” Remus closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. Severus was gone as well. That was… That was almost everyone from his generation. The Lost Generation, indeed. “So I’m trying to get Snape exonerated, at the least, if not honored, post-mortem. I know he’s dead and all, but I want people to know that he wasn’t all bad. I mean he wasn’t really given a _ chance _ to be good, was he? Only Mum--Only Lily ever did that. Give him a chance, I mean.” 

Remus nodded slowly and opened his eyes. Harry was right. Only Lily had ever been good enough to give Severus a chance… “And Dumbledore,” he said out loud. Harry blinked and nodded. 

“Yeah, and Dumbledore,” he agreed. “But Dumbledore… The more I think about him, the more I just feel sorry for him. For all of you. I mean I know I had it rough, but all of you did too. Dumbledore and Snape more than anyone have paid their whole lives for mistakes they made when they were around my age.” Harry sighed bitterly. “I think they did pay it all back, though. I mean they all did what they thought was best, didn’t they?” 

Remus nodded his agreement, but secretly wondered how much more his heart could ache for Harry. The boy had no idea that no one's suffering could be 'worse' than another person's. It wasn't a competition. 

“Then--” Harry swallowed and leaned in to whisper, “Then why do I still--I still _ loathe _ them. Snape, at least. I mean--I know what he did for us. I know that everything he did, he did for the Light, and I respect him and I think he’s one of the bravest men I’ve ever known--but… I just spent so many years hating him. And I spent most of last year hating him more than anyone, even more than Voldemort, it’s not just something I can forget because he used to be friends with my mum, you know?” 

Remus nodded again, this time a bit more wearily. “Forgive, not… Forget,” he croaked out. “Me too.” 

Harry seemed to consider his words for a moment before he nodded slowly. “I guess so. I mean you forgive him, don’t you?” 

Remus shrugged. “Need time.” 

Harry laughed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s a lot to process all at once, and I have about twenty four hours on you still. I’ll stop bothering you before the Healers start going all Madame Pomfrey on me.” Remus smiled his sympathy and inclined his head towards the door. “I’ll call Healer Dietrich for you.” With that, Harry stood and left. 

Before Remus could even so much as close his eyes, Healer Dietrich appeared again, his bag levitated beside him, his blue eyes twinkling kindly behind his half-moon glasses. Again, struck by the sudden reminder of Dumbledore, Remus blinked. 

“Remember me?” Healer Dietrich smiled, indicating that he was joking. “Can you talk right now?” 

“Yes,” Remus replied, his voice even weaker than before. Healer Dietrich hummed and pulled out a light blue potion. The light played and danced inside it like a constellation. 

“I think it would be best if you stayed quiet for the time being. You must have strained your throat very seriously during the battle.” Healer Dietrich waved his wand over Remus, making parts of his body glow different colors beneath the blanket. “Hm… Another Nerve Regeneration, I think, is due… You should make a full recovery.” He smiled benevolently again, and Remus found himself relaxing. Healer Dietrich had the uncanny ability to make him feel incredibly at ease in a way even Dumbledore could not, at least not once he was older. Maybe it was because he and the Healer were so close in age. He wondered why he hadn’t known him in school--or perhaps he did, and he was simply so closed up in Gryffindor and the Marauders that he hadn’t noticed. He must have been a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw. Or, perhaps, he wasn’t from Britain at all. The Healer did have a slight German-sounding accent, which made sense, he thought, based on the last name. 

At this moment, Healer Dietrich held out the crystalline potion and after a brief hesitation, Remus opened his mouth and allowed the potion to be poured down his throat. It tickled in the way mint tickled, and he felt his sinuses clear uncomfortably. A slight migraine started up somewhere between his eyes, and he crinkled his nose. Healer Dietrich gave him a sympathetic look. 

“A migraine, right?” he asked, shaking his head. “An unfortunate side effect, I think. It clears up your throat a bit too well. The brewer must have added too many diced mint stems." He huffed. "If I wasn’t so busy, I would brew all of my potions myself.” He reached into his bag and pulled out two vials with a swishy purple liquid in them and held them to Remus’s lips. Remus deeply appreciated that Healer Dietrich didn’t seem to be treating him differently. His personal, but still somewhat clinical, approach was actually rather refreshing. 

“There we are. Now,” he held up a small grey amulet that dangled by the side of the bed, “If you need to see me for any reason, just rub this three times with your thumb.” He reached for Remus’s arm and placed the amulet in his hand. “I’ll come as soon as I can. We’re taking care of a lot of patients after the Battle of Hogwarts, and frankly, we’re short staffed at the moment." He sighed and for a second, Remus could see weariness leak through the pleasant mask that he was evidently putting on for the sake of his patients. The flicker of exhaustion was gone as soon as it came and Healer Dietrich was smiling again as he stood up. “If you feel any pain or discomfort, call me. It’s better to stave off problems at the root rather than let them fester for too long.” He carefully shut the curtains and left Remus to his own devices. 


	2. In Memoriam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus wakes in St. Mungo's and has recovered enough to attend the memorial service being held by the Ministry in honor of the people who perished in the Battle of Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, deepest thank you to solemn-vow for being my awesome beta reader who got herself roped into this despite having many projects to do and being very busy. Your choice to sacrifice your precious time to help me allows me to choose to post more fics

A few days later, Remus found himself coherent enough to begin perusing the backlog of Daily Prophets that his visitors had been leaving at his bedside table, alongside a small potted plant and a few get well soon cards. Among them was a card from the Weasleys--one that held a great surprise within, the news that Fred was found after the battle half conscious from blood loss and was projected to have a full recovery--a card from Harry and Hermione that invited him to the memorial, and a card from Kingsley, of all people. He was pleasantly surprised that he had gotten cards at all. 

The first Prophet he picked up had a massive front page splash that depicted Hogwarts castle in ruins, and loudly proclaimed the death of Lord Voldemort. He sifted through the tripe and managed to find a list of the dead. His heart clenched as he carefully read the names, his breath nearly stopping when he saw one name in the midst: 

_ Nymphadora Tonks _

A chill ran through the length of his body. Dora and--Teddy. In the rush of the last few days, he realized that he hadn’t even spared more than a passing thought for his son. His _ son _! A deep, gnawing guilt shot through him as he struggled to sit up. 

Remus only managed to swing one foot out of bed before the door banged open to reveal Healer Deitrich, who immediately grabbed his leg and expertly lifted him back into bed.

“Not so fast, Mr. Lupin,” the Healer admonished, although he didn’t seem to be very angry. Exasperated, maybe, possibly a little frustrated. He probably had a lot of patients who tried to leave long before they were due. “Might I remind you that for any need you have, you may simply contact me through the amulet attached to the side of your cot?” 

Remus looked rather abashed and lay back silently onto the bed. Healer Dietrich shook his head and gave him a fond smile. 

“You may be one of my favorite patients,” he continued, “But that doesn’t mean I will let you romp around and risk a relapse.” He noticed the pile of Daily Prophets stacked on his bedside table and clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “I should have that drivel banned from the premises, for all the good it does in riling up my patients.” Raising an eyebrow, he turned to Remus, who found himself sheepishly trying to hide his copy of the Prophet under his pillow. “I understand the need to learn the news, Mr. Lupin, but please wait until you are in a more stable condition before attempting to read anything too upsetting. With the war concluding…” He sighed. “There are quite a few articles in there that would upset even a healthy man. Now,” Healer Dietrich’s matter-of-fact tone returned, “Is there something you needed?” 

Remus did, in fact, want a lot of things, but not all of them were needed. At least, not yet. “My son,” he said, quietly. “I want to see him.” 

Healer Dietrich nodded. “I doubt I can force his current guardian to bring him, but I will bring it up to your next visitors,” he promised. “You can’t be expected to go for so long without seeing him, after all, and I’m sure he’s worried about your health as well.” Remus didn’t mention that his son could barely string two words together yet, much less miss a father that was rarely around anyway. But a small part of him hoped, nonetheless. 

“Alright,” he agreed. Healer Dietrich gave the paper a pointed look, and Remus hastily replaced it on the table. 

“If you’d like some additional reading material,” the Healer offered, “I have a few medical journals on the study of Dark Creatures and current practices in treating bites, venoms, and other related injuries. I thought perhaps you might find them interesting.” Remus instantly wondered whether it was because Healer Dietrich knew he was a werewolf--then dismissed the idea as silly. Healer Dietrich probably didn’t have a bad bone in his body, and as far as Remus was concerned, had always acted with great professionalism. He doubted that even if the man did have some kind of ulterior motive, it would be to demean him. If anything, any ulterior motive was probably something along the lines of tricking an unruly patient into taking a vitamin potion. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself at the thought. 

Healer Dietrich smiled. “I take that as a yes, you’re interested.” With a wave of his wand, he wordlessly conjured two such journals, which popped into existence on top of the Prophets on Remus’s bedside table. “You should ask your visitors to bring you better reading material. I know it can get rather boring sitting here all day doing nothing.” He glanced down at his watch, which had begun flashing an alarming shade of red. “Merlin--I have to go, apologies. Please don’t hesitate to call again if you need me!” With that, Healer Dietrich dashed off, no doubt to deal with another patient’s emergency. 

Remus waited until the footsteps faded before considering his options. He _ could _ continue reading the Prophets, but that would be treading on the faith of the good doctor. The first page of the topmost journal did look rather interesting though. It promised a modern treatment for hinkypunk bites on page twenty five, as well as an in depth analysis of the chemical composition of doxy venom on page nine. Certainly, the journal’s contents would be much less morose than anything the Prophet offered. Having decided on his path, he reached for the first journal and immersed himself in the essays of researchers in the magical community.   
  


The next few days until the funeral gathering were quietly spent reading. Healer Dietrich stopped by a few more times in the interim, supplying potions and the occasional journal for his reading pleasure. The Prophets lay abandoned on the table, although he did ask Molly (who visited a day after he initially got the journals) for a summarized version of events. From what she told him, Kingsley was the current acting Minister of Magic, while Professor McGonagall became acting Headmistress of Hogwarts. Both decisions, it seemed, were looking to become permanent posts if the magical community remained in its current state. 

On the day before the memorial service, Andromeda finally came. Remus was sleeping off the latest dose of Nerve Regeneration Potion (which was also his last dose, thankfully) when she arrived. Thus, he woke to the sound of low conversation. 

“Mr. Lupin! Good to see you’re awake,” the ever-cheerful Healer Dietrich’s voice filtered into Remus’s consciousness as he sat up groggily. “Look who’s here to see you.” Remus’s gaze focused on the baby in Healer Dietrich’s arms. The baby gurgled happily and changed his hair color from solid black to the grey-streaked brown of Remus’s hair. He couldn’t have stopped his enormous smile if his life depended on it.

“Teddy!” he exclaimed. The baby let out a delighted shriek when he heard his name and waved his arms at Remus. Healer Dietrich laughed and handed the baby carefully to Remus, ignoring the dirty look that Andromeda immediately shot in his direction. “It’s so good to see you--have you been treating your grandmother alright?” Teddy gurgled some more and lightly slapped Remus’s face with his tiny hands. Remus couldn’t help but laugh delightedly, the smile on his face only growing wider. Healer Dietrich stayed close to the bed, keeping one hand against Teddy’s back to support him until Remus was able to prop himself up against the backboard of the cot with a few pillows. 

Andromeda cleared her throat. Startled, Remus blinked and glanced up. In his excitement to see his son again, he had nearly forgotten that wherever Teddy Lupin went, Andromeda Tonks would invariably follow. 

“Hullo Andromeda,” he greeted in a politely muted manner. “How are you?” 

“Just fine,” she replied in a clipped manner that clearly showed precisely how displeased she was to be in the room at the moment. Remus, who had by now turned ‘ignoring displeased looks and general rudeness’ into a kind of art form, ignored her tone. 

“I’m very glad to see you and Teddy are fine,” he continued with a gregarious smile. He wanted to ask about other parts of Teddy’s life, but with the ghost of Nymphadora Tonks hanging in the room between them, he didn’t know what else he could say. Instead, he lapsed into silence until Teddy, demanding attention, grabbed Remus’s hair and tugged. “Ouch!” he yelped, though the expression was more for Teddy’s benefit than out of any actual pain. Teddy shrieked again with laughter and bumped his face against Remus’s cheek, as if in consolation. Remus laughed, carefully disentangling tiny baby fingers from his hair and wondering if it was a sign that he needed a haircut. At the very least, he thought ruefully as Teddy began curiously rubbing his hands on Remus’s chin, he needed to get a shave. Being bedridden had hardly been conducive to keeping up his appearance, not that he was particularly vain in the first place. He just wished he could have presented a better face for Teddy and Andromeda, but he still somehow doubted that she would approve of him. 

It was no secret that Andromeda Tonks did not think much of her son-in-law. Remus, more than anyone, was most acutely aware of this fact. He had loved Dora, of course, but in the panic of the war and out of personal weakness, he had left her when she needed him most. Because of this, Remus knew there was certainly no way for him to ever make it up to Andromeda, who had always been disapproving and now only had more ammunition in her pockets to barr Remus from Teddy’s life. 

Once his son had been born, however, Remus found himself smitten. Fatherhood was something he never thought would happen to him, for a great variety of reasons, the main one of which was his curse and resulting chronic unemployment. Freedom fighting, even for the Order, did not pay, and there was simply no time during the war to attempt employment. Even now, he realized with a sharp pang of sadness, he would likely still have trouble finding a stable job. Although he was technically a war hero, his status did not erase the fact that he turned into a slavering beast every month or so. It also did not erase the fact that many people considered people like him to _ be _ a slavering beast in general, not just once a month. He was also not about to rely on the charity of his friends, not even Harry, who had hinted at letting him stay at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. 

The weight of life suddenly sat heavily on his shoulders. Most people considered life to be rather joyful in general, even if it was fraught with pitfalls and valleys. Remus’s life was more along the lines of ‘mostly valleys’. To his credit, however, he had always been a ‘glass half full’ type of person. If he was not, he knew he would not have kept his sanity for this long. But at the moment, he thought bitterly, the cup was probably closer to an eighth full than a half. There were a seemingly insurmountable number of hurdles before him, and he wondered if he still had the strength to continue leaping over them. 

Teddy, apparently sensing his father’s sudden malaise, made a few questioning noises and gently patted the arms that were encircling him. 

“I’m alright, Teddy,” Remus replied, a small smile gracing his face again. “I’m afraid I’ve been getting lost in thought rather often these days. Not much else to do, at least not until you came here.” He playfully tapped Teddy’s nose with one finger and laughed as he saw Teddy’s nose transform from its usual little button to a bright red ball. The transformation faded quickly, but not before his hair turned into rainbow ringlets that rather resembled a clown’s. A very small, somewhat cherubic-looking clown, at any rate. 

The rest of Teddy’s visit seemed to fly by. It wasn’t long before Remus had to bid his son goodbye, and Andromeda swept him from the hospital room. Healer Dietrich, who had left as soon as he saw his assistance was no longer needed, returned briefly to follow up on Remus’s treatment schedule. 

“You should be alright to attend the memorial tomorrow,” the Healer proclaimed, although he still had a worried line furrowed between his eyebrows. “But do not overexert yourself, and be sure to take your potions before you go. In addition, no drinking. There might be a few negative side effects to mixing the pain relieving potions and alcohol, and I don’t want you to take that risk.” 

Remus nodded obediently at the many stipulations that Healer Dietrich put before him, including but not limited to not over-exercising, not standing for too long, not getting too excited, not getting too depressed—  
“So essentially,” he interrupted meekly, “I should sit in a seat and do nothing but breathe and think nothing but mildly happy thoughts.” 

Healer Dietrich looked surprised for a moment, before he smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Mr. Lupin. I have to admit, I get rather protective of my patients and their health. I tend to get assigned the most difficult cases, you see.” 

“Sounds like you might have some stories to tell, then,” Remus chuckled. He caught himself, however, before he could ask the Healer to spend some more time with him. The man was busy, he chided himself, and he most certainly had other patients to help. In addition, was he really so desperate for a bit of friendly conversation? Healer Dietrich was just so very kind, and seemed to not mind at all that he was a werewolf. 

“Perhaps I can regale you with a few of them sometime,” Healer Dietrich spoke up, as if reading Remus’s mind. “Not now, however. Maybe once you’ve been released, and if they ever give me more than five hours off at a time.” He smiled reproachfully. “They might be a bit boring to anyone outside the Healer discipline…” 

“Nonsense,” Remus quickly assured the Healer, “I would love to listen, and if I don’t understand something, I would be happy to learn.” Healer Dietrich looked distinctly happier by the time Remus finished speaking. 

“I’m glad for that! Some people seem to think they can stop learning after the age of 17, which I know for a fact is completely untrue,” he enthused, but before he could continue the conversation, his watch glowed, this time pulsing a sickly yellow. “Ah--my apologies, I should run. If you do happen to have some time after your release, feel free to send me an owl. I would greatly enjoy spending time with a friend outside of work.” With that, he departed in his usual rush. Remus found himself feeling warm inside, and it wasn’t until he settled down to sleep for the night that he realized why: for the first time in what felt like years, he had made a friend. A friend who had not fought beside him, who had not gone to school with him, and who was simply a pleasant fellow who thought he was also pleasant enough to spend time with. It was a rather novel experience to Remus. He slowly drifted asleep clinging to that warmth like a favorite blanket. 

  
  
  


The day of the memorial, Harry came to pick Remus up from the hospital. He had been given a magically reinforced cane, which permitted him to hobble slowly around. Harry had enough foresight to bring him a change of clothes that weren’t horribly patched or frayed, for which Remus was very grateful. They were also formal and somber enough to pass as funeral attire. 

“Remus?” Harry asked quietly as they walked to the Apparition point. 

“Yes, Harry?” Remus glanced at Harry to indicate he was listening, but returned his gaze to the floor ahead of him as he focused on not tipping over. Harry bit his lip. 

“They want me to make a speech,” he confessed in a rush. “I don’t know what to say--I mean Hermione and I made up some flash cards, and Ron told me to just wing it and tell them about my feelings, but… I’m still nervous. I’ve never gotten up and spoken in front of so many people before. I just don’t want to say the wrong thing…” 

“I don’t think you _ could _ say the wrong thing at the moment,” Remus assured him, patting him on the back with his free hand. “You’re a hero. In fact, you’re _ the _ hero, as far as the public is concerned. But if it makes you feel better, perhaps we can take a bit longer on the way there, and you can tell me a few of your ideas so far?” He felt himself slipping back into the role of a mentor. He had rather enjoyed his tenure as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, however short that stay had been. 

“Well…” Harry worried at his lip with his teeth, reaching up to wipe at his glasses briefly. “I was thinking… I don’t know, really!” He made an exasperated gesture with one hand. “It’s really hard to put my feelings into words.” Remus nodded. He did know. Words rarely failed him as badly as when feelings were involved. “I mean, I want to honor everyone who gave up their lives for the Wizarding World, and I want to say that their sacrifices won’t be forgotten, but that’s all just really depressing. I think a lot of them would want for us to be happy, now that Voldemort’s dead, and talking about all of them dying is just… Counterproductive to all that.” 

Remus pondered for a moment. “Why don’t you talk about what they were like when they were alive?” he suggested. “For the dead that you know. You can also talk about the people who lived, that the dead cared about.” He paused quietly, wondering if he should make any input about Dora or not. “You… You could tell a story about all the good memories you have of our dead loved ones.” Remus thought for another moment. “And if you want, you can invite others to speak up in your stead.” 

Harry nodded along at Remus’s words, and brightened at the end. “Yeah, that’s a great idea!” he exclaimed. “I’ll talk a bit about Lavender, and Tonks, and Colin--and then I’ll ask everyone else to tell their stories. Not one by one, but… Everyone all at once. We’d be celebrating their lives, thinking about all the good memories we have of them. I’m sure they’ll hear us from beyond the veil.” He looked away. “... Should I talk about Sirius?” he asked again, suddenly muted. “I mean… He died so long ago… But he never got a proper funeral. There just wasn’t a body to be buried.” 

“Of course you can, Harry,” Remus encouraged. “It’s your speech. You can honor those who died at other times during the war as well… You aren’t limited to just the battle.”

Harry nodded some more. “Should…” His voice became even quieter. Remus had to lean in close to hear the rest of his words. “Should I talk about Snape too?” 

“I…” He didn’t know how to respond to that. Sure, he had heard Severus died during the battle, but… He was not exactly a well-liked figure. Even so, he deserved some kind of recognition. “If you feel that is right,” he replied, knowing that the answer was likely not the type that Harry wanted. Sure enough, his young friend’s nose wrinkled in clear disgruntlement. “For what it’s worth, you can at least honor Severus’s bravery. Only three people ever came close to knowing the extent of his sacrifices--you’re the only one out of the three alive to tell the tale.” Remus smiled kindly at Harry. “I think you should say something about his deeds, at the very least. I’m not sure if he’d appreciate it if you yelled out more of his secrets in front of a large crowd of people, though.” 

“Oh--you heard about that?” Harry asked, running his hands through his hair sheepishly. “The whole bit about Snape that I told Voldemort? I was just… I guess I just wanted to tell him how badly he failed.” 

Remus laughed. “Of course. I can imagine Severus turning in his grave as we speak.” 

“Actually…” Harry looked uncomfortable briefly. “We never found him. Snape, I mean. When someone went to the Shrieking Shack to check for his body… He was gone. We think the Death Eaters took him. We tried looking everywhere--but we didn’t find a trace of him anywhere. All we found was some spilled Floo powder in his lab and a potion that exploded almost as soon as we got near it. Slughorn couldn’t figure out what it was, so we thought we’d just clean out the whole mess before it poisoned someone. By then, whoever had been in there must’ve been long gone.” 

Remus’s eyebrows raised into his hairline. “So you think he might be alive, then?” he asked, curiously. 

“I don’t think so… I saw him die. I mean… I saw the light go out, you know, behind his eyes.” Harry’s voice took on a pained tone. Remus didn’t think anyone--especially not someone so young--should know exactly what it was like to watch someone die. 

“Maybe the Death Eaters took him,” he said softly. “Or someone else did. No one knew he was on our side, after all…” 

Harry nodded to himself. “I guess so… And Voldemort didn’t even kill him for being a spy, if you can imagine that. He thought killing Snape was the only--the way for him to get ultimate power. It didn’t work, obviously, but I think Voldemort thought Snape was loyal to him until the very end.” 

“It just goes to show how well Severus played his role.” Remus shook his head. “He had us all fooled, didn’t he? Even the Death Eaters and You-Know-Who.” 

Harry smiled bitterly. “Yeah, he really did. I guess I can talk about that… And I guess I could talk about how he did end up teaching me _ something _ after all those years.” 

“Oh?” Remus asked, raising a teasing eyebrow. “And here I thought his abysmal teaching methods weren’t good for anything.” 

Quickly, Harry stifled a shocked laugh behind a hand. “No! I mean, he taught me about love. If it weren’t for his love for Mum, I don’t think any of this would’ve happened. Or maybe it would’ve, but definitely not in the way things did. Maybe Voldemort would’ve won. The prophecy wasn’t exactly specific about who would live and who would die between the two of us.” 

Remus nodded pensively. “I suppose you’re right. You should talk about love then, for your speech. I think that would make a good theme, don’t you think? Loving those who are gone, and cherishing their memories.” 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “That’d be a good topic, I think. After we get there, I’ve still got about half an hour to prepare a bit more--maybe I’ll go over the cards again with Hermione and add some of your advice.” 

Remus nodded bracingly. By then, they had reached the Apparition point. Harry held onto Remus’s free arm and took a step, turning on the spot as the two of them felt the familiar squeeze of Apparition before they disappeared from St. Mungo’s. 

  
  
  


The sun shone brightly above the funeral proceedings. Remus slowly hobbled to a seat somewhere in the back of the seating area, towards the side so he could lean his cane against the seat and not trip anybody. His arrival startled an older man out of his sleep. For a brief moment, he thought he recognized the man, but the resemblance faded when he went back to sleep. Remus turned his head towards the sun, simply enjoying the warm rays, before he faced the rest of the crowd. 

There was one section of seats completely occupied by what seemed like an infinity of redheads. All the Weasleys were present, including Fred, who was covered in bandages and seated in a magical wheelchair being pushed around by George. At some point, Molly had to Vanish the fireworks they stuck to the chair, apparently in an effort to rapidly propel the chair someplace. Remus couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, shaking his head at the twins’ antics. 

“Something funny about a funeral?” the man beside him asked dourly, raising one bushy grey eyebrow. 

“Oh no,” Remus hastily apologized, raising both hands in a placating gesture, “Of course not--I was just watching the Weasley twins.” 

The greying man snorted and adjusted his robes around his rather rotund belly, turning his knobbly nose up. “Trust them to turn every activity into an opportunity to display a complete lack of regard for those around them.” 

“I think they’re trying to deal with this in their own way,” Remus suggested. “Not everyone deals with losses the same way.” 

The old man made a disbelieving noise and fell silent, but Remus’s interest had been piqued. 

“I don’t believe we have met yet,” he said curiously. “Who are you here for?” 

The old man looked rather startled before he made a non-committal noise. “A relative,” he replied vaguely. “Last living kin.” 

“Oh.” Remus looked away somberly. “I’m sorry.” 

“I’ve had enough of empty platitudes for several lifetimes, Lupin,” the old man snarled. Remus furrowed his eyebrows and turned to face the old man again. 

“How do you know my name?” he asked, trying and failing to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice. The old man again, looked rather abashed, but quickly hid the expression, which Remus found curious. 

“Newspaper,” he grunted. “They published a story about you in the Prophet.” 

“I see…” Remus was not quite convinced. He could’ve sworn he had met this man somewhere before, although he didn’t know where he could’ve possibly met that aging man before. Perhaps he knew of this mysterious relative of theirs, and he had visited before? “What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking? You seem to know me well enough, it’s only fair.” 

“Steve Prince,” the man said, sticking his hand out. Remus shook it. 

“Prince?” he asked, curiously. The Princes were a pureblood family, and as far as he knew, their line had almost died out by now. “A distant relative of the Prince family, by any chance?” 

The man grunted non-commitally in a tone that implied a family history that was both interesting and absolutely not meant to be pried into. Remus knew enough about pureblood families to stop asking at this point. 

“Ah.” He let the conversation die down, and for a few awkward moments, they sat next to each other, doing their best to not look too closely at each other. Remus was saved from the awkwardness by a speaker finally stepping up to the stage at the very front of the crowd of seated people. It was Kingsley. He tapped his neck with his wand and cleared his throat loudly, the sound magnified to ring across the entire clearing. The murmur of conversation lulled, then died as he began to speak. Remus leaned forward in his seat, listening attentively. 

“On behalf of the victims and their families, I extend a warm welcome and my deepest gratitude to all of those in attendance,” he began. “Today, we mourn the passing of many great wizards and witches, all of whom perished bravely in the final battle against Lord Voldemort.” There were many gasps and stifled sobs at the name--Kingsley paused to let his sonorous words echo above the whispers. “They fought for the greater good, for our future, and for justice. If it were not for their great sacrifice, we would not be gathered here today, finally free of the shadow of the most feared Dark Wizard of our time. Indeed,” his voice raised, and the audience leaned forward into the sound, “We are now standing at the cusp of a great many changes, and the opportunity to make choices. They made theirs--they chose to lay down their lives at the front lines of the war. Now, it is our turn. When we choose to forge a better tomorrow, we honor their sacrifice.” Kingsley stopped, his face somber and still, as he turned toward the hulking shape behind him. Slowly, he raised his wand and the cloth covering the grand stone memorial scattered into millions of shimmering particles. 

The memorial stood tall and proud, the very tip crowned in sunlight. All along the tall, crystalline body lay etched the names of every lost life in the war. Each letter was carved deep into the stone, which glittered like someone had taken a shard of the night sky and condensed it into a single space. Streaking the dark stone were brilliant veins of gold and silver, as if the rock itself had been cracked to reveal streams of pure light. Remus thought the stone looked as if it had the very essence of life captured within--as the light shifted and played on the surface, he thought he could see colors shifting and melting into one another beneath the glassy surface. A streak of royal blue here, a hint of sparkling emerald there. It was gorgeous. 

All around him, a sort of peace permeated the crowd as it seemed to breathe as one, all eyes glued to the memorial. From his vantage point, Remus couldn’t make out any of the names on the memorial, but he knew by heart who would be on it. 

“I believe you have heard enough of my voice,” Kingsley began again, quieter than before. Extending a hand to the side, he motioned for someone in the front row to come up to the stage. “Now, Minerva McGonagall the acting Headmistress of Hogwarts, has a few words…” Remus could see Minerva’s head and shoulders as she stood, the sunlight catching her hair and turning it from silver to gold. He wondered briefly how many people would be speaking as she strode onto the stage and began her speech. 

After Minerva, several other prominent members of the wizarding community stepped up to speak, including a member of the Wizengamot, the new head of the Auror department, and a representative from the continent. Tactfully, none of the speakers were ever associated with or a member of the Death Eaters, which was a tall order considering many of the most influential Wizarding families had ties with Voldemort. Finally, however, Remus watched as Harry walked nervously onto the stage under the sound of tumultuous applause. 

“Um—” The sound of his voice echoed across the expanse, and everyone fell silent. He saw Harry wince and glance in the direction of a bushy head of hair sitting in the crowd. “Hi everyone.” The audience hushed. “I… At first I didn’t know what I wanted to talk about with this speech,” he began, his voice trembling as much as his body must be. Remus silently urged him on. “But I talked to some of my friends, and I thought--I want to say something that everyone will remember, sure, but I think you’d all remember the things I say anyway even if I made the most boring speech in the world. I also want to make sure I got my point across, that is, that I talked about how I feel about all of this.” Harry’s back straightened, and Remus thought he saw a determined light enter the boy’s eyes. 

“Everyone here has lost someone they loved--in fact, the person you love might have their name on this stone right behind me. But they’re a lot more than some bit of rock. So I want to take a moment to talk about the people we loved, and still love, and will always remember. I want to talk about Lavender, who always had a smile on her face when she greeted me in the Gryffindor common room. Colin, who snapped so many pictures of everyone that I think we could probably paper the whole Hogwarts castle with them and still have some left over.” A ripple of laughter washed over the crowd. He paused to let the laughter stop. “And Sirius, my godfather, who was innocent and suffered so much anyway. Like Kingsley said, the people we’re remembering today sacrificed everything to make sure that we, the people they love, would have a chance to have a brighter future.” The light in Harry’s eyes intensified.

“And sometimes, there are people that maybe we don’t love, who did the right thing anyway. Like S--Severus Snape.” The crowd buzzed like an angry beehive. Remus heard the old man sitting next to him make a disgusted noise. Harry kept going, shouting over the crowd. “Everyone was always willing to believe the worst of him, and for awhile, we all thought we were right. But he ended up being one of the bravest people I’ve ever known. He loved my mum, and that’s what pushed him to start doing the right thing, even though no one would know about it while he was alive. He was a triple spy, and he played the most dangerous role in the whole war to make sure that I would get to Voldemort in time to beat him. Without him, we wouldn’t have won.” The crowd fell deathly silent. Harry paused to take another fortifying breath. Remus glanced to the side and noticed that the old man’s hands had tightened their grip on the seat of the chair, his knuckles gleaming white. 

“The point is… Love. Dumbledore said that love is the most powerful magic, and I believe him, because without love, we wouldn’t all be here today. Before I end my speech though, I’d like to ask everyone here to just shout out something about someone who’s being honored here--or someone who died in the war, and isn’t getting honored here. Anything is fine, as long as it’s something nice that we can remember them by. I don’t think it’s really fair that only us on the stage get to tell everyone something about the people we know. Everyone deserves that chance. So…” He made an awkward waving gesture at the crowd. “Just shout it out.” 

The crowd was dead silent. No one dared make a move. Remus glanced around and before he could regret the attention, he stood up. “I want to remember Tonks,” he announced, his voice clearer than he ever remembered it being. “She was the brightest star in my life, and had a smile that could light up a room. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss her. I hope wherever she is, she’s happy.” Before he could sit down, someone else, half a crowd away, stood. 

“I want to remember Dobby.” It was Hermione. “For his friends, he was willing to do anything. He was more than the best house elf in the world--he was also the most loyal friend that anyone could ask for.” Before she could continue, several more people stood and began telling their own stories, and it wasn’t long before everyone was standing and saying something, the stories tumbling over one another as voices wove a blanket over the crowd, rising into the brilliant blue sky. 

“Frankie! I remember Frankie, he was the bravest boy I ever knew!” 

“She went down kicking, I know she did, and I’ll love her forever!” 

“Diana! Diana! Diana!” 

There was only one person not standing. The old man seated by Remus was sitting silent and motionless, his beady eyes never leaving the point in space directly in front of him. As he watched out of the corner of his eye, a teardrop descended, glistening, down the man’s nose before it plopped onto his lap. He gripped his robes before he abruptly stood and swept away, his ratty robes flaring behind him as he went. 

All of Remus’s questions were quelled as a voice rose above the conversation. “Let’s all go and celebrate the lives of those we lost!” Harry shouted. The crowd cheered and dispersed, decidedly happier than they were a few minutes ago. Remus seized his cane and began hobbling slowly towards the stage. 

“--lliant, Harry!” Ron was saying enthusiastically when Remus finally managed to push past a pair of weeping witches. “Totally brilliant! Your speech was ten times better than all the rest combined.” 

“Thanks,” Harry said, grinning widely. He glanced around and saw Remus, raising one hand to wave him over. “Remus!” 

“Your speech was wonderful, Harry,” Remus congratulated with a smile.  
“Yeah, well…” Harry laughed sheepishly, “I ended up making it up as I went. I mean I had the flashcards and everything, but once I was up there and talking, it was like I got possessed by a ghost or something. I really hope I said everything right.” 

“I think you did,” Remus assured him, patting Harry’s shoulder with his free hand. “I’m glad you decided to ask all of us to share as well.” 

“It wouldn’t have worked if you didn’t speak up too,” Harry shrugged. “I was sorta nervous that no one would say anything.” 

Remus smiled ruefully. “I think it’s about time I spoke up about something.” He glanced around and saw that people were migrating towards the tables across the courtyard, which had appeared laden with finger food. There was also a table dedicated to various alcoholic beverages. House elves manned each table, handing out plates and filling goblets. “You must be hungry after that speech, maybe you should go get something to eat.” 

Harry and Ron both perked up at the mention of food. “Yeah!” Ron gushed, “I’m _ starved _.” 

“You’re _ always _ starved, Ron,” a strident voice chided. Hermione pushed her way past a few chairs and came to stand next to Harry. “Your speech was marvelous, Harry, even though you didn’t follow anything that we planned out.” Her words were strict, but Remus noted that she was too happy for them to mean anything. 

“Yeah… Thanks for talking about Dobby though. I can’t believe I forgot to mention him!” Harry looked stricken for a moment, but Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s alright, Harry,” she assured. “You were under a lot of pressure…” 

Feeling like his presence was somehow intruding, Remus retreated, letting the three friends converse with each other. He made his way to the table with beverages before he remembered Healer Dietrich’s warnings about alcohol consumption. With a sigh, he picked up a goblet of pumpkin juice instead, forgoing a stronger drink even though he very much wanted one. 

The rest of the service was spent wandering from conversation to conversation as he was found by a variety of different people from the Order. Remus realized with a pang that he wasn’t particularly close with any of them--he had always been, by nature, a reclusive man. Coupled with his work among the werewolf packs, he didn’t really have time to forge a lasting connection with any of the other Order members. A lifetime living as a lycanthrope also meant he didn’t have many contacts outside of the Order. 

He was utterly exhausted by the end of the day when he Apparated back to St. Mungo’s with Harry. By the time he reached his own room, he could hardly stand up on his own two feet, even with the help of his cane, a Healer, and Harry. Thankfully, Healer Dietrich was already waiting for him, and used his surprising strength to guide him into his cot with minimal fussing. Remus was asleep before his head hit the pillow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so in case the pattern hasn't emerged yet, I'll be uploading every week on Saturday! I have 7-ish chapters finished, so you can look forward to regular updating for the next 7 weeks at least! Which is great, because I'm pretty well known for being absolutely horrible about deadlines


	3. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the memorial, Severus and Remus return home, but something unexpected happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, super super thanks to solemn-vow for betaing!
> 
> Severus and Remus FINALLY get to meet each other lol

Severus wasn’t sure what he expected. Regardless, it was certainly not  _ this _ , he fumed, his lips curled into a silent snarl. Not only was it one of the most banal events he had ever attended, but  _ Lupin _ of all people had decided to sit next to him. Lupin! And he had let his disdain for him slip out. He must be slipping. Peacetime was making him weak. 

He just barely managed to Apparate away from the memorial service when he felt the telltale tingles of Polyjuice beginning to wear off. While he could have brewed a second dose, he feared extended use would clash with the pain relievers he was now essentially surviving on. He bit back a grunt of pain as the transformation took place, his features sloughing into a doughy-looking mess before they resolidified into his very recognizable features. 

The memorial had been exactly as insipid and maudlin as he expected it to be. Potter’s speech was especially unwelcome, he thought as he cursed his eyes for reacting the way they did. Perhaps it was because of all the potions he had been consuming lately to keep his wreck of a body from falling apart, perhaps it was the sudden relief of the duress he had been under for years finally being lifted. He was  _ not _ grateful to Potter, not in the slightest. He was grudgingly accepting of the fate he was given through some fluke or another that allowed him to somehow survive the war he did not expect himself to survive. 

In fact, he had a feeling that in some world somewhere, he didn’t. All he could dwell on now was the smug satisfaction at having proven Trelawney, the utter quack, wrong yet again. She had spelled out his impending gory demise many times already, and despite--or perhaps because of--Severus’s best efforts, he remained alive and kicking. 

He pushed open the back door and limped into the living room, where he collapsed on the raggedy old couch. 

Why did he have to go to the memorial? Was he truly so vain as to risk his cover to see if they would even think about him? He wondered if it was pitiful or demeaning that he felt his chest squeeze when Potter spoke his name… And that he didn’t catch a single mention of him aside from that, despite the rest of them obviously knowing the extent of his efforts in the war. Not that he cared, of course he didn’t. The world had not cared about the sacrifices he made, and he was determined to throw his own indifference right back at it. Regardless, he was dead to the wider public anyway, and that came with its own meager freedoms. Sure, he couldn’t step outside anymore, but he, at last, didn’t have to come running at someone’s beck and call. Subconsciously, he flexed his left arm, where the Dark Mark had lain dormant for just over a week now. The black tattoo was fading around the edges, just as it had when the Dark Lord fell for the first time. He wondered if it would fade before he himself died, so he might live for awhile without a permanent reminder of his mistakes. He wondered how it was that he was allowed to even think of such a future. 

After nearly two hours of attempting to fall asleep, Severus found himself unable to quell his racing thoughts, and sat up with a disgruntled sigh. His throat twinged, the pain reminding him that he should probably find another pain suppressant, even though he knew he was at risk of becoming addicted. It had just never seemed like a problem before, he realized as he popped the top of the flask and downed its contents. Long term plans, long term consequences… None of them mattered until now. And with the rest of his life ahead of him, a life that looked like it would be longer than anything he had planned for, Severus didn’t know what to do with himself. Certainly, he couldn’t stay here forever. At  _ some _ point, someone will notice that a dead wizard’s Gringotts account was still open and active. At  _ some _ point, his funds will run out, or at  _ some _ point, someone will wonder what happened to the dour man living in the ramshackle house at the end of the cul de sac. 

Severus heaved another sigh and rummaged around in his cupboards for the last remaining dose of nerve regeneration potion and the last flask of antivenin. Hopefully this was enough for him to recover without too many negative effects from the venom. Deciding that the potions were enough, and realizing he needed to spend a bit more time convalescing, he dragged himself to his couch and fell into a fitful sleep, full of fangs and green light. 

Eventually, after an indeterminate amount of time, he woke. The curtains, of course, were drawn, but he had taken the liberty of placing dark cloth over the windows over the curtains, to ensure that no one was able to see inside. Of course, this also meant that he had almost no ability to see out, either, and at this point, he was too tired to cast a time checking spell. Groaning, he got to his feet and he migrated over to the beaten down refrigerator, wrenching the door open and leaning heavily on it, glaring bleakly at its largely empty interior. There was a single egg left from a carton of one dozen, a bit of milk that expired yesterday, and a bowl of limp salad. None of it looked appetizing. He shut the refrigerator after draining the rest of the milk, chewing mindlessly on the salad, and throwing the cartons into the trash. After a few more fruitless attempts at searching through his cupboards for something edible that he hadn’t already eaten, he gave up and wandered down to his basement instead, where he kept his brewing equipment and stores of ingredients. 

Pickled frog legs really aren’t as disgusting as people think they are. Or perhaps he had already become numb to the taste. 

It was then that his wards came crashing down and the front door burst open. 

Severus froze, one hand still in the jar. Did he leave anything out? Was the cup of tea sitting on the scratched linoleum table still warm, or had it gone cold already? Would the intruder notice? Had someone seen lights inside, and chosen this moment to come in? A thousand and one different scenarios raced through Severus’s head, each more ridiculous than the last. After discarding the idea of militant house elves coming to take over his house in the name of house elf liberation, he silently set the now half-empty jar of pickled frog legs onto the counter and drew his wand. 

“ _ Hominem revelio _ ,” he murmured. Just outside the basement door, a figure lit up angry red, and a short distance away--it looked like the front door--another red silhouette flared into existence. 

Fuck. 

Severus cast a Disillusionment charm on himself, although he knew it would do no good if the intruders had already cast the same revealing charm he just did. That, however, presumed they were wizards. The alternative was Muggle burglars, but he doubted any would come in the bright of day. Of course, he thought bitterly, the burglars in his neighborhood weren’t exactly known to be the sharpest of tools in the tool shed. Plus, he couldn’t even be sure it  _ was _ the middle of the day. For all he knew, it could be one in the morning, and he would be none the wiser because of the curtains. 

The red shape shimmering at the top of the basement stairs moved on, and the second red shape followed, the two figures pulsing like heartbeats as they wandered through the first floor of Severus’s house. The slow pacing of footsteps above Severus felt like ants crawling over his back. He gritted his teeth, his wand hand shaking slightly. He forced himself to relax, and for the first time since he was attacked by Nagini, he successfully threw up his Occlumency shields. Peace washed over him, a tranquil surface with nary a ripple. 

Voices, too faint to be heard clearly, trickled in. Severus resisted the urge to inch closer to get a better idea of what they were saying. The red silhouettes were inching back towards the basement door. 

Severus was nearly thrown to the ground as the wards around the basement shook. A flick of his wand and a subtle diagnostic charm showed that the wards on his basement door were being battered. Shit. Shit. Fuck. He glanced frantically around the basement. The shaking paused, a few trickles of dust raining down from the ceiling. It seemed like his unwanted guests were wizards after all, but they didn’t seem to be in any rush to break into the basement yet. Perhaps they weren’t sure if anyone was in the house. If he reinforced his wards now, they would know for sure. He knew he should’ve stored an emergency Portkey inside the basement, or installed a fireplace--But he couldn’t Floo now, not into the unprotected and likely watched Floo network. A dead man using the Floo was sure to garner attention. Not only that, he had anti-Apparition charms set up around the premises. Sure, he could go between the rooms of the house unimpeded, but to Apparate out… 

An idea struck him. The figures were standing a short distance away from the door of the basement, and as far as he had been able to tell, none of them had found the bookcase hiding the stairs to the upstairs rooms. If he could Apparate up there, he could find his Portkey and escape to an Order safe house, one of the leftover remnants of the war he hadn’t bothered cleaning up yet. It was just unfortunate that he would have to leave behind all of his worldly possessions--but they could be be replaced. Evading life in Azkaban was worth the thousands of Galleons of potions equipment and materials in his basement. 

Taking a breath, he dispelled the revealing charm and turned on the spot just as the basement door shook again, this time more vigorously. 

Materializing in his room, Severus stumbled against his nightstand, sending a lamp crashing to the ground. Voices shouted from below.

“I heard something upstairs!” someone shouted. “Blast--we need to find a way up—” Severus knew he only had moments to spare. His robes caught on the edge of the nightstand and sent both of them spilling to the ground. Scrambling upright, he shoved the door open just as he heard the intruders blast open the bookcase hiding the stairs. Light from his ruined living room streamed into the darkened stairwell, unable to pierce past the first few steps in spite of the gaping hole in the bookshelf that once blocked it from view. He stumbled down the hallway, groping blindly in the semi-darkness, discarding old shoes, ragged t-shirts, and moth-eaten boxes as he searched for the Portkey. Damn it, it had to be in here somewhere—

“Over there!” A voice yelled from behind him, from too close behind him. 

“ _ Protego _ !” Severus roared, his voice cracking as he pointed his wand behind him, a shield springing to life before him just in time for the distinctive red of a stunning spell to dissipate uselessly. 

“Stop! We’re from the Ministry!” the same voice shouted, and Severus saw a half-recognizable face who he might have known from school or from his years as a teacher. What was completely recognizable, however, were the distinctive red of an Auror’s robes. He was not about to get caught now. No matter what Harry said about him, he was still a wanted man. 

“ _ Reducto _ !” he shrieked, sending the spell careening into the wall. An explosion of wood and plaster showered over them, leaving the Aurors coughing and spluttering behind him. Severus scrambled backwards on his hands and feet, blindly shoving aside more detritus.  _ It had to be here somewhere... _

His fingers closed around an empty tuna can and he felt a pull on his navel that sent him spiralling into the darkness. 

  
  
  


Remus was released from the hospital early the morning after the memorial. With the approach of the full moon, his curse had taken that moment to force his body through a burst of recovery right at the end. Perhaps it was because the wolf could sense the incoming moon, or perhaps it was because his body had finally recovered enough to afford the taxing experience of his tissues knitting together, but the end result was that he woke, exhausted, but feeling more comfortable than he had in months. 

“It seems like you recovered during the night,” Healer Dietrich pronounced, one of his eyebrows raising as he ran a diagnostic spell over Remus’s body. 

“I think it’s the moonrise,” Remus answered, “But honestly, I’m not sure. I’ve never been injured this badly before…” 

Healer Dietrich smiled at him. “Well, thank God for small mercies, yes? I believe a steady diet combined with the moon cycle may have encouraged your natural regenerative abilities--well, the curse’s regenerative abilities--to begin once again. Have you ever noticed that you rarely get sick, even of Wizarding illnesses, outside of your monthly transformation?”    
Remus blinked. He hadn’t thought of it that way before. Considering he was living in near-poverty, he should have been regularly catching colds and who knows what else, but so far, none have ever befallen him. In fact, despite appearing rather sickly, he had led an oddly sickness-free lifestyle. 

“I guess you’re right,” he nodded slowly. “I was just too busy to notice before now, I think.” 

Healer Dietrich seemed inclined to agree, and after another few moments, he led Remus out, insisting on walking him to the door. 

“If it were up to me,” he explained as they took the elevator down to the ground floor, “I would keep you here for at least another day or two, but the administrative staff were… Uncompromising.” The words were spat out like so much poison. “I suppose they don’t think it’s safe to keep you here during the full moon, as if I wouldn’t have been more than willing to provide you the Wolfsbane Potion during your stay… Or at least a spell-reinforced, private room, if the potion ended up being incompatible with whatever potions you’re currently taking.” He tutted in disgust and shook his head, but was interrupted by the elevator door opening. 

Remus wondered why Healer Dietrich cared so much. It was nice, sure, but he couldn’t help but wonder if there were strings attached, or if he’d be able to repay the kindness someday. It seemed that he spent his days going from one debtor to another, he thought ruefully. 

When they stepped out of the elevator, the crowd parted. Remus was rather surprised, firstly, that there was a crowd in the first place, and second, that it had parted with so little fuss. Healer Dietrich, who was standing next to him, looked equally confused until they saw the real reason why the crowd had parted. 

He looked into the distance, his jaw agape as he saw a tall, imposing man with hair kept in a long, grey-streaked braid stalk through the crowd, turning his head to snarl at anyone who dared approach too closely. His dark robes snapped and swirled around his feet, open in the front to reveal a sharp, dark green uniform below, complete with knee-high boots that clicked sharply against the marble floor of the lobby. While Remus didn’t recognize the man, he certainly  _ thought _ he recognized his mannerisms. 

Healer Dietrich appeared equally startled, although he looked more like his face was desperately trying to arrange itself somewhere between relief, grief, and disbelief. A whisper of a breath left his lips, but Remus couldn’t hear anything more detailed, as the crowd--which turned out to be comprised largely of reporters--turned on them and started shouting questions. 

“Silence!” A voice barked amidst the din, and when that was ignored, a sharp bang and a startled yelp ensured that everyone’s attention was diverted towards the center of the crowd, from where the imposing man emerged. 

“R--Auror Lambert,” Healer Dietrich’s voice sounded like it was trying to be stern and exasperated, but it was tinged with too much relief-- _ and longing _ , Remus realized with a start--for it to have much of an effect. 

“That would be Head Auror Lambert to you, Healer Dietrich,” Auror Lambert inclined his head slightly and flicked his hair back over his shoulder. “After you see your patient out, may I have a word? It’s for an ongoing investigation. I would like to compare some facts.” 

“O--Oh—” Healer Dietrich’s voice sounded rather faint, and Remus found himself more than a little worried for his new friend. 

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly, so the reporters couldn’t hear. 

“Oh--yes, yes, I’m fine,” Healer Dietrich replied absently, one hand shifting to mess with the hem of his green healer’s cape. “I suppose I should talk to him, then. Take care, Mr. Lupin—” 

“Remus,” Remus corrected automatically, reaching out with one hand to shake Healer Dietrich’s hand. The usual warm smile suffused the Healer’s face and he took the hand in his own firm grip.

“Alright, Remus. Take care.” He gave Remus a brief wave before he walked off with the Auror, who was shooting glares so intense that it was a miracle no one dropped dead on the spot. As they walked, Remus caught brief hisses of the whispered conversation. “--and, pray tell, why did you think that childish act was necessary,  _ Head Auror Lambert _ ?” 

The Auror’s tart response was lost to the sound of the reporters resuming their clamoring. 

It took until his arrival at the safe house--the only place with a secure-enough basement--for him to realize that he had been comparing the Auror to a dead man. 

“Stop thinking about ghosts, Lupin,” he admonished himself softly, glaring at the thin layer of dust on the floor. “He’s dead. They all are. There’s no point dwelling on it.” Remus’s face hardened briefly before he shook the thoughts off, his shaggy hair flopping about his face. “Besides, it’s about time I moved on from the past. New day, new me.” He thought about Teddy, and Harry, and realized this was his chance to have a real future. Already, he had heard stirrings of change in legislation from Kingsley, and was holding out a hesitant hope that perhaps the Umbridge Laws (as he had begun calling them) would be repealed soon. Of course, the Ministry as a whole tended to be a very slow moving machine with a great many cogs, but change would happen. Eventually. He settled in well enough, and decided that a bit more sleep was long overdue. 

  
  
  


Remus woke with a start at the sound of something--or some _ one _ , rather--crashing into the kitchen with a loud bang and a grunt of pain. He shot out of the bed, and instantly regretted that decision when his head immediately swam and his vision nearly blacked out. Leaning against the door jamb, breathing hard until his heart stopped racing, Remus fumbled for his wand. Who could have come into the safe house right now? This was one of the safe houses that had never been used during the war, whether to house refugees or for recovering Order members. He knew because there was so much dust everywhere--and yet, someone had obviously just stumbled into the kitchen. 

Slowly, with his wand out and a hex at the tip of his tongue, Remus slowly opened the bedroom door and crept down the stairs and into the kitchen, only to see a black mass of robes crumpled on the floor, an empty tuna can lying a few feet away. Somewhere at the back of Remus’s mind, he remembered seeing Albus hand it--a Portkey--to…    
“Severus?” 

  
  
  


There was no time to think too closely about it. Severus was unconscious, clearly injured, and--well, Remus knew there was no time to waste. It must have been a dire situation indeed, and if Harry’s account of what happened to him was true, then the man must have been coping with extremely severe injuries for the last week or so. He was clearly in no condition to be traveling anywhere, magically or otherwise, and must have been truly desperate to have taken a Portkey to a safehouse like this. Remus pushed back all thoughts of concern and tried to think practically. What would Severus need right now? What could he provide?    
A cursory check over Severus revealed that the thick layer of bandages around Severus’s neck were wet, and when he brought his hand away, his fingers glistened red in the dim light. He glanced outside. It was just past dusk, and the sky was transitioning from resplendent reds and oranges into the dark blue of night. 

“Come on, Severus,” he murmured, even though he was fairly sure the unconscious man could not hear him. “Up you go.” He pulled Severus up, dismayed at how light and thin the man was underneath the seemingly endless swathes of black cloth that enveloped him. Looping one arm under Severus’s, he lugged the limp body up the stairs and into the bed he had just vacated. That had to be good enough. After making sure Severus was settled in bed-- _ had blood always smelled this strongly, or was it because of the moon? _ \--Remus snatched bottles of blood replenishing potion, healing potion, and fresh bandages from the first aid kit in the bathroom. 

The potions, he did his best to pour into Severus’s mouth, and the bandages, he did his best, but his hands shaking too hard, and sweat kept dripping into his eyes. The moon was too close. He couldn’t stay with Severus, not for much longer, especially not because… He stumbled down two flights of stairs, nearly falling down the last one, and was barely able to lock the door before the first pains of transformation gripped him. 

  
  
  


When the morning came, the house was quiet, save for the sound of a visitor appearing at the very edge of the wards. 

“Mister Lupin?” Healer Dietrich called, his voice slightly concerned. “Remus? Are you in there?” Although it was not impossible for him to take down the wards himself, Healer Dietrich found himself reluctant to intrude on Remus’s privacy like this. The quiet house remained still and silent in the morning dew. He had shown up early to do a checkup on his patient--he always followed up with his patients, especially ones who recently left intensive care and were in precarious situations. 

“Obviously, he’s not there,” a voice grumbled plaintively. Standing next to Healer Dietrich was Head Auror Lambert, who looked distinctly unhappy to be there--or at least, unhappier than usual. His thick eyebrows and prominent nose were always furrowed in a permanent frown, which only accentuated the dark shadows that his steel blue eyes glared out from. “Let’s just go home, Alois. I don’t understand why you must be gallivanting all over England so early in the morning…” 

“Of course, Rene,” Healer Dietrich rolled his eyes. “Nothing should disturb your beauty sleep, should it?” 

“No. And nothing should take you from—”    
Healer Dietrich silenced Head Auror Lambert with an imperious finger and listened closely. Was that a sound he heard? 

“It’s just the  _ wind _ , Alois, now can we please—?” 

“Wait. I think something might be wrong. Remus would answer the door, most likely--or at least someone would. It’s not too early for him to have woken after a transformation, is it? And even if he did… The poor man ought not to be dealing with such a painful ordeal on his own so soon after his release from the hospital.” He turned his gaze to Head Auror Lambert and affected a very pleading appearance. “I know it’s in your jurisdiction to disable any private wards should you be under the impression that someone within them is under distress…” Head Auror Lambert shot Healer Dietrich a glare that would’ve made the oldest oak tree wither, but the healer seemed entirely unaffected.    
“ _ Fine _ ,” he ground out. “Just don’t expect  _ me _ to apologize if it turns out the man is in the loo.” He raised his wand, and after spending several moments performing some rather complex movements with it, the wards parted long enough to let the two visitors in. 

  
  
  


Remus awoke aching and cold in the darkness of a basement, as was usual for mornings after his transformation. He groaned, rolling over and wincing as he felt his joints ache and creak. Early onset arthritis seemed to be on the horizon… Nonetheless, he took a breath and forced himself to sit up. That was when, even in his exhausted state, his sharpened senses picked out the sound of voices and footsteps, too many to be right. 

Life just seemed intent on never letting him rest, Remus groused reproachfully as he groped around in the darkness for his wand. Thankfully, the wolf hadn’t managed to find and break it, because it had rolled underneath a low cabinet when he dropped it after stumbling into the basement last night. He lit it after a few aborted attempts and clambered up the stairs. However, before he could make it up the whole way, the door opened, light from his living room streaming in and nearly blinding him. 

“Wha—” 

“Put on some clothes.” 

Remus found himself blinking into the icy eyes of the Auror he had seen in St. Mungo’s last night, and wondered if he was, after all, in trouble for something. Then, the sound of a much more welcome voice sounded from behind him. 

“René! Don’t terrorize the poor man, he’s just had a very rough night,” Healer Dietrich appeared from around the corner and dragged the snarling Auror aside. “I’m very sorry for his behavior, Remus,” he apologized, as soon as Auror Lambert was banished to a chair in the kitchen. “He’s just a little stressed, and not a morning person.” 

“O-oh…” Remus felt rather nonplussed by all of this. “Um… What are you doing here, Healer Dietrich?” he asked, lamely. 

“Just a regular post-op check-up,” the Healer replied briskly, waving his wand over Remus. A few spots on him lit up, in different colors, making his eyes swim. “And please, call me Alois. I didn’t have the opportunity to tell you earlier.” 

“I… See….” Remus still felt rather confused. 

“Now, you should be off to bed,” Healer Dietrich--Alois--said. “You should probably take the spare bedroom, your guest is—”

“OH!” Remus made to bolt up the stairs despite his protesting joints, but Alois held him back with one steadying hand. “Severus—” 

“It’s alright,” Alois assured him. “He’s recovering, whether he likes it or not.” 

Remus did not question the slightly menacing tone that Alois’s voice took on. “But—” 

“I know, I know. He’s my patient now, and so are you, so you had best get onto bed.” With a look that would have made Madame Pomfrey proud, Alois practically dragged Remus up into the spare bedroom and put him to bed. 

  
  
  


One room over, Severus woke to the sound of people bustling about the house. A chill jolted down his spine. With an enormous effort, he tried to leap out of bed, but he was unable to move much beyond turning his face this way and that, and perhaps wiggling his fingers and toes.  _ Incarcerous _ , and a strong one at that. He struggled harder and managed to shift himself slightly on the mattress before the door burst open. 

“Stop moving!” a brisk voice commanded sternly, and if the voice wasn’t this deep, Severus would have thought he had been kidnapped by Madame Pomfrey at her fiercest. “You will only aggravate your wounds, and in spite of your best efforts to the contrary, you will most certainly survive if you let yourself recover.” 

Severus snarled at the voice and turned his head to glare daggers at the intruder. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice a gravelly rasp. “What--”

“Hush.” A man in the white and green robes of a St. Mungo’s healer stepped into view, his eyes stern behind his half moon glasses. Instinctively, Severus felt a deep dislike of the man. “And why, pray tell, have you not seen a professional Healer about your wounds? They are clearly severe and of a magical variety. Actually--” he continued, raising a hand to silence Severus before he could protest, “I suppose you thought you could handle it on your own, hm? And I suppose everyone thinks that just because they are wizards, that they can match the abilities of a trained Healer? Of course you did.” He waved his wand, and Severus bristled, struggling in vain to escape his invisible bonds. 

“Let. Me. Go,” he ground out. If only he knew where his wand was, then he could--his wand. His  _ wand _ . Severus glanced around frantically, his gaze skimming from surface to surface in search for his wand. 

“That will not be happening, Mr. Snape,” the Healer pronounced. “You will stay, and you will recover… And as for your wand, Remus has kindly agreed to hold onto it.” 

“ _ Lupin _ ?!” Severus practically yelled, before he devolved into racking, wet coughs. He spat out a glob of blood mixed with spit. The Healer Vanished it with a wave of his wand and a disappointed click of his tongue. 

“Rude.” Healer Dietrich gave Severus a disapproving stare. “ _ Yes _ , Remus Lupin. He has also kindly allowed us to use his spare bedroom for the purpose of your convalesce.”

“I will not be treated like a child--” 

“You will. Be treated. Now be quiet before I am forced to silence you with magic.” The Healer summoned a large brown bag and began fishing vials of potions from its depths. Severus watched, silent but mutinous, suppressing further bouts of hacking coughs. 

“ _ Now _ ,” the Healer continued, “You shall drink these potions. One to replenish your blood, and… How many pain relieving potions have you had over the last week or so?” 

“Can’t remember,” Severus wheezed out, his voice growing weaker as the burst of energy from waking in a strange place started wearing off. “Many.” 

The Healer hummed thoughtfully and turned back to his bag. In the mid-morning light, Severus saw the glint of the Healer’s bronze nametag against his robes. Associate Head Healer Alois Dietrich. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Severus chalked it up to German wizards all having similar-sounding names. 

“Then perhaps we will have to skip on that for now. I wouldn't want you to develop a dependency.” 

“I  _ know _ .” Severus desperately wanted to berate this impertinent Healer within an inch of his life, but he couldn’t summon the energy anymore. As much as he could, he sank back into the bed. Had the beds in this safe house always been so… Cushy? He felt like his brain was sinking through the back of his skull, which made no sense, because the back of his skull was clearly too solid for brain matter to sink through. Belatedly, he realized his mouth was being gently propped open, and a vial of familiar-tasting potion was tipped down his throat. That had to be the blood replenishing potion. He wondered vaguely if it would start losing effect if too much of his blood had already been magically replenished. That might be a good topic to research in the future. Perhaps he should be documenting his current experiences with it. 

His vision swam, and he made a great effort to focus it. When he could finally see clearly again, the Healer was rummaging around in his bag yet again, considering one vial after another. 

“Dittany, perhaps…” he thought he heard Healer Dietrich mutter. “Or murtlap to soak out the cursed magic…” 

Severus didn’t speak and instead waited for the Healer to turn around before catching his eye with a steely gaze. Images flashed before his eyes. The inside of what must be a Healer’s office--a cauldron bubbling away in a kitchen--two trays of pastries, half baked and spilled on the floor—a hand, clad in a dark green dragonskin glove--images that were altogether too normal for a Healer, especially one of his stature. He was expecting… Well, gorier things. 

“Are we quite finished?” Healer Dietrich’s calm voice pierced Severus’s concentration, and the images disappeared. “It would do you good not to exert yourself so soon. After I apply this paste and redress your wounds, you should sleep. I believe you should do without Dreamless Sleep for now, but if I return in an hour and find that you are still awake, I will administer it.” 

Severus continued glaring, and decided right then and there that he was going to stay awake for as long as he possibly could, regardless of how mind numbingly boring the room’s interior was to look at. 

“Now, there’s no need to look like that,” Healer Dietrich admonished. “I’m just here to heal you.” 

At that moment, the door creaked open and showed two men standing beyond. Severus recognized the scarred face and grey-brown mop of hair that belonged to Remus Lupin--blast him, why was he here in the safe house anyway?--and a taller man with long, salt-and-pepper hair held together in one thick braid. Healer Dietrich turned around and frowned at the two intruders. 

“I told you two to wait down in the living room. What are you doing up here?” He put his hands on his hips. 

“To gloat,” the stranger answered at the same time as Remus said, “To see how Severus is doing.” Healer Dietrich sighed. 

“Out, both of you. Mr. Snape doesn’t need more people hovering over him.” Healer Dietrich 

Severus has never hated anyone this much in his life. He was also never more grateful, which only made him hate Healer Dietrich even more. 

“Just a little longer,” the loathsome Healer promised, moving to his side and unwrapping his wound. Severus just turned his face away from him and closed his eyes. Healer Dietrich sighed, seemingly resigned to being hated. Good. Because Severus was determined not to change his mind. 

He fell unconscious at some point between the application of the murtlap-dittany paste and the redressing of his neck. 

  
  
  


Downstairs, Remus found himself sitting across from the stern-faced Auror that Healer Dietrich had come in with. At some point in the last half hour, he had given up trying to make conversation. It was clear that the Auror did not want to be there, but was sticking around for the sake of his companion. Finally, at the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, Auror Lambert stood and stalked towards Healer Dietrich. 

“About damn time,” he growled, seizing the Healer’s arm and attempting to drag him out. Remus stood, his eyebrows knitting together with concern, but it looked like the Healer was well-acquainted with the mannerisms of prickly, middle-aged men, because he simply stood still, leaving the Auror to tug impotently at his arm. “Well? Can we go now? I’m sure you have other very important Healer duties to attend to,  _ Healer _ Dietrich.” 

“Rene, really,” the Healer sighed, looking very put upon. “You can call me, Alois.” He fixed the Auror with a gaze that eventually had the other man looking away, his ears tinged pink. 

“Whatever. Maybe  _ you _ have nothing important to do, but  _ I _ most certainly do. Make your own way back to St. Mungo’s, and get run over by a Muggle car on the way, for all I care.” Auror Lambert stormed out and slammed the door, but Remus didn’t hear the distinctive pop of Apparition. 

Healer Dietrich shook his head and sighed. “I suppose I had best get going then, Remus,” he smiled tiredly at Remus. 

“I hope your Auror friend calms down soon,” Remus said apologetically, despite not being the one who had stormed out in such a snit. 

Healer Dietrich laughed. “Oh, it happens,” he said, waving a hand. “I’ve learned to not take it personally. I think he and your guest are a little similar in that regard.” Tapping the side of his chin, his grin widened. “Do you think you can handle him on your own? I left some potions for him on his bedside table. I assume he’ll know which ones he needs to take, but it would be best if you helped him. I have a feeling his hands will be too weak for another good while… That’s what he gets for not coming to a professional. At least a private practice, if not St. Mungo’s.” He shook his head. “I will be checking in on your guest over the next few weeks to ensure his recovery… I hate to impose, but would you be willing to harbor him for a little while longer?” 

Remus nodded. He couldn’t find it in his good conscience to kick Severus out, not when the man clearly needed time to recover. Plus, there was nothing Remus could be doing at the moment anyway. He wouldn’t call it  _ hiding _ , but he was certainly doing his best to stay out of the limelight for the time being. Lying low for a little while, until the wild, post war celebrating died down. Frankly, he also didn’t mind staying with Severus. He could have worse companions, and some small part of him hoped that maybe now that the war was over… Maybe he’d have a chance to redeem himself to Severus. They were, after all, the only two left.

“I think I’ll manage,” he replied, giving Healer Dietrich a wan smile of his own. “We go back awhile, so to speak.” 

“That’s good. I will entrust our unwilling patient to your care then. He’s asleep at the moment, but I expect he’ll wake up hungry sometime this evening. Good luck.” Healer Dietrich headed towards the door, and from inside, Remus heard him exclaim, “Rene! I thought you left--” The door closed before any more of the conversation could filter through. Remus sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Then, he did that two more times for good measure.

After that, he went to set the kettle to boiling, rummaging through the cupboards to see if there were any packets of tea. Any tea would do, honestly, but he desperately needed something to soothe his nerves. The only thing he managed to find was a dilapidated package of Earl Grey. It would just have to do, at least until he found a way to purchase more tea. He wondered if Severus would want tea when he woke. Perhaps something to soothe his throat. Would he have time to go out and purchase anything before he woke up? It was still mid morning, after all. The rest of the day stretched out in front of him like the yawning mouth of a dark cave that he couldn’t quite see the end of. 

A quiet sigh left his lips as he sipped his tea, ignoring the scalding heat against his lips and tongue. Perhaps he would sleep instead. His body was still too exhausted from the transformation, and now that he wasn’t under the obligation to play a good host (at least, not to anyone who was awake), he desperately craved a nap. Typically, he slept well into the afternoon on transformation days to let his body recover properly. He knew he would be feeling worse aches and pains than usual if he exerted himself any more than this. Dragging himself to his feet, he plodded up the stairs with the mug in one hand, the other steadying himself against the railing. Quickly, he peered into Severus’s room to see that indeed, he was fast asleep. It was only due to his heightened senses from lycanthropy that Remus could only pick up the faint rattle in Severus’s breaths. Even in sleep, he could see that Severus’s brow was knit in a permanent scowl of disapproval. He wondered if one day it would ever go away--or if his face really  _ was _ stuck like that, the way your parents said your face would if you frowned too much. It was a thought, certainly. Shaking his head slowly, Remus retreated, closing the door and leaving a ward on it to warn him in case Severus tried to get up and around the house before he was recovered. 

Then, he slowly meandered to the other bedroom, set the mug on the dresser table, and collapsed into bed, fully clothed but too exhausted to be bothered. 


	4. Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being cooped up for nearly a month, Severus begins to feel restless. Arguments spark, and some laundry is put out to air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Severus miiiiight frustrate you a little bit this week sorry in advance, i know how irritating it is to deal with stubbornly depressed people like him (from both the depressed side and helping side) 
> 
> Again, thanks so much to solemn-vow for betaing this chapter! You're super awesome
> 
> Speaking of which, we may have a prequel coming out at some point (solemn-vow's writing it right now) that's a spinoff series of how Rene and Alois met. Consider it an oc companion fic! I'll put a link up with the next update (or whenever we decide to post it)

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Remus spent his days persuading Severus to drink his potions, and Healer Dietrich came by a few more times, as promised. The rinse and repeat of ‘Yes, Severus, you must drink these,” and “No, Severus, you may not attempt to brew your own” was oddly calming. 

An owl came in that morning bearing a cheque made out to Remus, of all people. He opened it, curious, and realized that it was the pension given to all widowers of Aurors who died in action. It should’ve been him. He shouldn’t be the one receiving this letter. It was never enough, and never would be, a life turned into nothing more than a sum--

“I didn’t know you still had friends left to send you letters,” a rasping voice cut through Remus’s thoughts. 

“It’s not from a friend,” Remus replied, setting the envelope down on the table and moving to find a treat for the owl. “You should be resting, Severus.” 

Severus scoffed and leaned heavily against the doorway. His grey nightshirt hung off his thin frame, and his hair was knotted in greasy tangles, but he still managed to give off an air of smug superiority. Remus never understood how he managed to pull that off. 

“My limbs are all still functional, yes?” he sniffed derisively. “I will not be treated like an invalid.” 

Remus fed the owl a treat and bade it farewell. “Of course you aren’t an invalid, but Alois told you to--” 

“Oh, so the two of you are on first-name basis now, are you?” Severus sneered. “How desperately lonely you must be to be keeping the company of  _ Snivellus _ and a nosy bastard who doesn’t understand the concept of personal space.” 

“Severus, please. You know I never called you that.” Remus gently laid his hands on Severus’s shoulders and tried to guide him back up the stairs. 

Snarling, Severus slapped Remus’s hands away, his eyes flashing and lank hair swinging with the force of the action. “You might as well have!” he shouted--or rather, tried to. His voice gave out almost as soon as he finished the sentence, and he broke off into a series of hacking coughs that left him doubled over and wheezing. Remus took the opportunity to seize him more firmly around the shoulders and push him up the stairs. 

“I’m not having this conversation now,” he said, trying to summon up some sternness. A string of muttered curse words left Severus’s lips as he ineffectually tried to push Remus off of him, all the way until Remus led him to his room. “Would you like to go to the loo before you go to bed?” 

Severus’s face twisted, and Remus realized he had said the wrong thing. “ _ No _ ,” Severus hissed, his eyes blazing with fury. “I do  _ not _ need your pity, wolf,” he spat, his anger seeming to give him the strength to finally push himself away from Remus and toward the bathroom. “Get out, and leave me alone.” 

Remus decided not to point out that technically, he was also living here. Instead of leaving, he watched as Severus slammed the door of the bathroom closed. Sighing softly to himself, he wondered if his presence was doing them more harm than good. Sure, Severus may be recovering physically, but mentally… The man had been through so much. He barely had a moment to rest, and--well, Remus was under no illusions about the nature of their relationship. They were unfriendly at best and enemies at worst, at least in Severus’s eyes and in spite of every attempt that Remus made to reconcile them. All attempts had been met with virtriole and anger, and on more than one occasion, the stipulation that ‘there is nothing to reconcile and certainly no reason to forgive or forget’. 

He left his station in front of the bathroom to lurk in the stairwell, listening until it seemed that Severus had gone straight to bed after using the loo. 

Remus sighed and went back to the kitchen to sit down. He stared morosely at the cheque lying on the table. It felt like an utter betrayal to cash it, but he was also desperately low on money. Severus had thrust an envelope into his hands a few days earlier with instructions to deliver it to Gringotts however he could. That afternoon, a goblin appeared at their doorstep to meet with Severus. A bag of Galleons was left in a cupboard with strict instructions to only spend on food, ‘because the swill you consider cooking is only worse when you have nothing to cook with’. But he hated relying on Severus, and he knew that even if the goblins were notoriously tight-lipped, something, eventually, will slip out. He read the number of Galleons allocated for him. If he spent carefully, it might even last them the rest of the month without having to draw from Severus’s stores. It would have to be cashed within two business days, or else it would automatically become void. He would have to make his decision fast, or it will be made for him, as things tended to be. 

Deciding that staring at the paper would do him no good, Remus went to the living room and pulled a book out from the rather sparse shelves. Books comprised the vast majority of his belongings, and even those were mostly secondhand or ‘borrowed’ (and never returned, for one reason or another). The one he chose was  _ The Darkest Times of Wizardry: A Treatise on the History of Medieval Dark Arts _ . Very appropriately, the Dark Ages was the most prolific age for the practice of Dark Magic. Soon, he was immersed in rather gory descriptions of horrific deaths (accompanied rather uncomfortably detailed drawings). He barely noticed the day passing until he found himself squinting at the page in the growing darkness. Remus blinked the stars from his eyes. 

“ _ Lumos _ ,” he commanded, waving his hand in a bit of wandless magic to light the lamps in the living room and kitchen. He needed to make dinner. There should still be a bit of meatloaf left from lunch earlier. He might be able to make something from that. 

  
  
  


Meanwhile, Severus woke when the room suddenly darkened, the sun dipping below the curve of the earth at last. Oh, wonderful. Normally, twilight was Severus’s favorite time of day, but today, all he felt was sluggish and melancholy. All he had done for the last few weeks was sleep, eat, and sleep more. Even a Flobberworm led a more interesting lifestyle than he did at the moment. He longed to be able to make potions again, or read the books he had to stop reading, or even terrorize some students into fleeing from his path. There had always been some petty delight in seeing their wide eyes and pale faces. Alas, none of those were available to him, and Lupin, the bastard, was never offended by anything. He spent his days trying to goad the werewolf into reacting  _ somehow _ , but no reactions were ever forthcoming. 

Speaking of Lupin, he could hear him moving around downstairs. The sounds of clanging pots and running water filtered up through the floorboards to Severus’s room. He gritted his teeth. There was something incredibly irksome about having to rely on the charity of nosy busybodies, and now he had to deal with  _ two  _ of them, one on a daily basis. He could not wait until he was recovered enough to leave this blasted home. 

After another twenty minutes or so (not that Severus was staring at the clock daring it to move any slower than it already was), Lupin appeared in his doorway. 

“I made stew,” he said quietly, coming over to the bed and setting the steaming plate onto the table. “There was some rice as well, so I steamed that.” Severus glared at it critically and pulled his blanket over his head. He heard a sigh come from outside his cocoon. “You need to eat to get your strength back, Severus.” As if Lupin hadn’t said that exact same sentence at least fifty times in the last week alone. “There’s no use starving yourself.” 

“I’m not hungry,” he hissed. His voice still sounded as if someone had run a cheese grater over his throat, something that Severus would hate Nagini for forever. If there was a single thing he thought he may like about himself, it was his voice. And now? That was gone. Forever. There was no hope of getting it back, even if Lupin seemed optimistic. He noticed, however, that the blasted Healer never seemed to mention his voice, and he didn’t know if it made him feel better or worse. 

“You should still eat,” Lupin encouraged, and even dared to reach for the blanket to pull it down from over Severus’s head. 

Severus snarled menacingly at him as soon as their eyes met. “Get out, Lupin. I will not submitting to your whims today.” 

Lupin just sighed again and picked up the spoon. Before he could so much as push the stew around on the plate, Severus’s hand shot out and snatched the spoon from Lupin’s grip. 

“I will not be spoon-fed--” he tried to roar, but his voice came out in a pathetic wheeze, “Certainly not by you, wolf!” Lupin stiffened before he schooled his face into one of practiced placidity. 

“Of course not,” he replied in that infuriatingly reasonable voice of his. “I assume you can feed yourself then, Severus?” 

“Of course I bloody can.” Severus pushed himself upright and glared at the plate. Then, reaching for his wand, he passed it over the food with a suspicious glare. 

Lupin suddenly got a pained look in his eye, which Severus pretended to ignore until Lupin spoke up. “You aren’t in a war anymore, Severus,” he said quietly. “No one is trying to poison you here.” 

Severus snorted and performed another scanning spell, purely out of spite. “Not that I don’t trust your cooking, Lupin,” he drawled, pointedly prodding the air with his wand, “But if it is anything like your potion-making skills, you may as well have poisoned it.” Severus was satisfied to see that something he said or did must have rattled Lupin enough for the man to frown and cross his arms. 

“I mean it, Severus. We’re done. The war is over. You don’t have to act like everyone’s your enemy anymore--” 

“Oh do I? Is it?” Severus slammed his hand down on the table, hard enough to make his hand hurt but not hard enough to do much more than jostle the table slightly. “Perhaps it is for  _ you _ , but war is never over for  _ me _ . Someone, something, will always be out to get me. You think the war is over--but that’s because you’re constantly deluding yourself to the state of the world around you. That’s how you’ve survived for so long, after all, living in a fantasy world where nothing is wrong, ever, simply because of some foolish Gryffindor notion that ‘good will always prevail’. Perhaps it will take Merlin himself to explain to you that the notion is, in fact, completely and utterly false. You think  _ good _ prevailing is such a good thing when  _ good _ amounts to  _ this _ ?” he spat, gesturing around the room. “Look at where all that  _ good _ has gotten me. Look at all those  _ good _ people who use people up and spit them out like so much rubbish. You think Dumbledore was  _ good _ ? He was the only one who believed in me--and even then, only because he had a need for me. If he didn’t need me, I would either be rotting in a cell in Azkaban or gathering dust in an unmarked grave somewhere--if someone bothered to bury me at all. Get it into your thick head, Lupin!” Severus was practically shouting at this point, each word a burning needle in his throat. “No one has, or ever will, care! Least of all about me! So stop bothering with your grandiose ideas of nobly sacrificing your free time to caring for a ‘war hero’ that no one bothered to even come looking for. Stop bothering. Why are you so bothered with me? Why are you still here?” At this point, Severus wasn’t sure who he was talking to anymore, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. “Just wash your hands of me already and leave me here to die!” 

Lupin had gone completely still during the course of Severus’s rant, his eyes focused on a spot directly to the side of Severus’s bed. 

“I’m not here because I feel sorry for you, Severus,” he said, finally. 

“Likely story--” 

“Let me finish,” Lupin cut him off. He turned to meet Severus’s eyes, and Severus was surprised at the sudden steely determination backing those faded amber eyes. “I’m not here because I feel bad for you, or because I feel like I owe you for saving the Wizarding World. I’m… Honestly, I’m not sure why I’m here. But I feel like it’s what I’m supposed to be doing. Maybe you’re right--maybe I’m here for selfish reasons. I want to make up all those years of inaction to you. I spent so long doing  _ nothing _ , so long just going along with what other people want. But this time, I will go with what I want.” He took a breath. “And right now, I suppose I just want a chance to right an old wrong. Is that enough for you?” 

Severus stared at him before breaking into a mocking laugh. “ _ Right _ an old wrong?” he croaked. His eyes stung, though he wasn’t sure if it was from his delirious laughter or because a tiny, curled up part of him inside that was still dangling upside down against the blue sky, desperately trying to save one scrap of his dignity was screaming and crying and just unable to fathom that someone, least of all one of _ them _ had finally said sorry, finally realized how much pain he was in, and wanted it to stop. 

“You--you want--Lupin, of all self-serving reasons,  _ this _ is why you have developed a martyr complex bigger than Potter’s?” He swung himself out of bed, in spite of Lupin’s protests, and overturned the nightstand. The plate, food, cutlery, and a lamp went crashing to the floor. Ceramic shattered against the wood and a few shards dug in. Lupin yelped and pulled out his wand, but Severus was faster with his. “You do not get to  _ apologize  _ after so many years, Lupin!” he shrieked, his voice breaking with every syllable. “Not after so many years, not after so many wrongs! You cannot possibly understand--no one has and no one ever will! Just leave me alone, Lupin! What would it take for me to finally convince you that  _ I’m not worth it _ ?!” 

They stood, wands pointed at each other. Severus’s chest was heaving from the effort, and sweat had beaded on his forehead. There was an odd light in Lupin’s eyes--fear, Severus thought. Strangely, he was suddenly reminded of himself, but a very, very long time ago. A man, his father, was shouting, and his mother was screaming, and he was curled up as small as he could, as far away as he could. 

“... Just… Just go,” he whispered, slumping. The fight in him slipped away almost as quickly as it had come over him. “Leave.  _ Please _ .” 

Lupin was quiet for a few seconds longer. “No.” 

Severus blinked. “What?” 

“No.” Lupin still stood, determinedly in the bedroom--despite all incentive to do what he did best and simply  _ run away _ \--and stared at Severus with the most Gryffindor-ish determination set in every line of his body. “I’m not leaving.” 

“ _ Why _ ?” Severus asked, almost desperate at this point. He wasn’t sure what he was desperate for: for Lupin to stay, or to go. At this point, he wondered if there was any difference. 

“You need me,” he said, simply. “You need me to stay. So I’ll stay.” 

“But--” 

“That’s a good enough reason for me,” Lupin said, his voice firm. “You told me as much. No one ever saw a reason to stay before, and I--I feel like you expect people to leave, so you push them away first so you can get the last word.” His face contorted into a wavering smile. Severus wanted to hex it off of his face, but doubted he could muster more than a bat bogey hex at the moment. “But I’m sure you’ll find that I’m just as much of a stubborn Gryffindor as you think I should be.” He extended a hand, almost as if he was reaching to touch Severus’s shoulder, but seemed to think better of it. “I’m not going anywhere, Severus. You’ll just have to deal with my stupidity and my poisonous cooking.” 

Severus gaped at him. This could not be real. This had to be some kind of joke. Remus Lupin, against all laws of magic and nature, was standing in Severus’s room and saying that he would stay. What has the world come to? He watched, mute, as Lupin looked away, almost bashfully, before waving his wand and cleaning up the mess that Severus had just made. The food, of course, was ruined, which Severus’s stomach complained rather bitingly about. Lupin had the fucking nerve to grin at him. 

“I suppose I should get you another serving,” he observed mildly, as if Severus had not just been screaming at him and throwing tables across rooms. “This one is rather ruined beyond salvation.” He looked at Severus, who was shaking like a leaf in a storm, standing in nothing but his grey nightshirt, and very carefully asked, “Perhaps you would like to join me downstairs, today?” 

Severus stared at the doorway. Suddenly, downstairs sounded like a terrible idea. He just wanted to sleep more. Perhaps if he kept sleeping, he could hibernate through Lupin’s stay. Maybe while he was asleep, Lupin will find someone else to attach onto like a stubborn limpet and leave him be. 

“Or I could bring something else up here… I just thought you may appreciate sitting at a table.” Lupin edged wandered to the wardrobe and pulled out a ragged dressing gown. It was old and had a faded floral pattern on it that may have been yellow and orange at some point, but had dulled to a musty-looking and surprisingly uniform grey. 

“Here,” he held it out to Severus, who barely mustered the energy to give it a glare of distaste. “Before you catch a cold.” Severus allowed the affront to all things fashion to be draped around his shoulders, slipped over his arms, and tied around his waist. “That’s it. Let’s head down to eat, shall we?”    
Severus followed mutely, like he had been Imperioused. He ate Lupin’s prepared plate of food mechanically, not even bothering with the scanning spells. So what if there was poison? All the easier to die with. Disappointingly, it tasted like mushed up cardboard with a few bits of extra stringy cardboard mixed in, with a helpful garnishing of cardboard sauce. 

After dinner, he allowed himself to be helped up to his room. He even allowed himself to be tucked into bed. He was just beyond caring now. If life was so determined to thrust nurturing werewolves in his path, he was surely on death’s door anyway. Fate had a way of mocking him before something particularly nasty happened--he expected something to go wrong, anything, at any moment, but at least when it did, it would mean that this particular stage of torment would be over. 

The next day, Severus woke to the sound of birds chirping much too cheerfully outside, and sunlight streaming in through the crack in his curtains. He wondered if it was worth the exertion to wandlessly shove the curtains closed, but realized that he was more liable to setting them on fire than actually getting them closed. Suddenly, the events of last night came crashing down on him, and he found himself struggling to breathe from the weight of the invisible  _ thing _ that had suddenly squatted down on his chest. What he had told Lupin… He had not told anyone else before. And yet, he realized as he heard the sounds of someone stirring a few rooms away, Lupin had stayed. He was still here. Lupin had just been subjected to probably the most horrendous shouting fit that Severus had indulged in for years, and yet… He was still here. Still stubbornly clinging to him like a fly on rubbish. Seveurs wondered what he would have to do to convince Lupin that he was better off leaving now. 

He lay there, scheming, until there was a light rap on the door and Lupin peered inside. 

“Good morning, Severus,” he announced, his voice far too cheerful for this early in the morning. Severus glared at him. “It’s good to see you awake. I just made some breakfast, would you like to join me?” 

Severus glared at him some more. 

“I thought you would like to be up and about today,” Lupin continued conversationally as he let himself into the room. He was wearing a tatty old dressing gown not dissimilar to the one he foisted upon Severus yesterday, except the shade of grey to this particular offense to the eyes had a suggestion of purple and pink in its tint, rather than orange and yellow. Underneath, Severus thought he glimpsed a plain Muggle t-shirt, although he could have been mistaken. 

“I will go down when I please, Lupin,” he replied rather peevishly, his voice raspier than usual. He must have hurt his throat more badly than he thought last night. If he was standing, he would have crossed his arms, but felt the gesture would come across a little silly from his current position. “Leave me alone.” 

“I do believe that would be the tenth time in as many hours you have told me to leave you alone, Severus,” Lupin smiled casually. “Not that it will make any difference, mind you, but it’s good to know anyway.” 

Severus groaned and made a show of pulling the blankets over his head in the universal language of over-sleepers who just want five more minutes. 

“Well, if you aren’t going to come eat… The eggs and toast will go cold,” Lupin announced from outside of Severus’s warm cocoon of safety. “It would be a shame, too. There’s no way I could eat all of this.” 

“And here I thought your stomach knew no limits,” Severus muttered, mostly for his own benefit, but it seemed that Lupin picked up the words anyway, because he chuckled quietly. 

“Unfortunately, it does, and I certainly cannot eat your share for you, Severus. It would just go to waste.” 

“Fine then. Go waste your money on food that I won’t eat.” 

“You do remember that we are living here on your dime, correct?” 

Severus fell silent. If glares could set things on fire, he would be lying in an inferno that was once his bed. “... Fine. Just get out so I can change.” 

“I’ll see you downstairs, Severus.” The door closed with a soft click, and Severus peered out of his blankets at the now-empty room. Wonderful. Now he had to actually get up. Slowly but surely, he pushed himself upright, gritting his teeth as he felt his neck twinge in complaint. It had been over a month since he was first injured, and the wound was only now starting to scab. He knew that pain was the least of his worries--the worst part would be the itching that would inevitably come. Based on his personal estimates, he gave himself about a week before the hell of itchy scabs begin to plague him. 

He stumbled over to his wardrobe and wrenched it open, sagging against the door as he surveyed his options. He hadn’t had a chance to really look inside, because Lupin had always been the one dressing him. It was the first time in weeks he had been able to dress himself. He wondered how he could have possibly stayed upright the last few weeks, and remembered the copious amounts of potions he had been ingesting. At that point, there was probably more potion in him than blood. Or flesh. Or anything else, really. He must have been holding his body together purely through magic and willpower, he thought sourly. Maybe Lupin was right--maybe he did need to take care of his body better. If only to avoid being uncomfortable. Some part of him knew that this resolution would last about as long as his current discomfort did. 

Finally, he managed to put on a sensible black robe that was slightly too short and slightly too wide. There was no way he would go downstairs in that miserable excuse for a dressing gown that Lupin seemed to think acceptable to wear. He would catch his death in that thing, if not from cold then from its atrocious color scheme. Severus leaned heavily against the wall for support as he plodded heavily down the stairs, taking the steps one at a time. When he was within view of the kitchen, however, he forced himself upright in spite of the protests from his weakened muscles and injured neck. Back straight, chin up. That was one of the many etiquette lessons Lucius had drilled into him. 

Lupin looked surprised to see him standing so straight, which invigorated Severus to stand all the straighter. This worked, at least until one leg gave away beneath him, and he nearly sent all the food on the table flying (again). 

“Severus!” Severus felt Lupin grab his arm. Snarling, he turned to verbally--or perhaps physically--snap his head off, but stopped when he saw the genuine concern in Lupin’s amber eyes. Concern. For him. For his safety. The idea of it was so singularly foreign to Severus that he forgot to berate Lupin for touching him and guiding him to his chair. 

“Are you alright now?” Lupin asked, his hand still on Severus’s shoulder even though he was very securely seated in the chair. The words shook him out of his stupor, and he shot Lupin a practiced glare of derision. 

“Of course I am, you dimwit. Did you invite me downstairs just to embarrass me?” Severus flicked some hair out of his face with one hand and noted with great annoyance that he probably should bathe--or at least cast an unknotting charm on his hair. Not that he cared what he looked like. It was purely for convenience, because tangled hair had the irritating habit of getting caught in everything. 

“No, of course not,” Lupin was saying as he hurriedly sat back down at his seat. There was already a half eaten bowl of the promised porridge at his seat. Severus watched him suspiciously. Seeming to sense displeasure, Lupin changed the subject. “The Prophet should be arriving soon,” he commented. 

“The drivel in the Prophet is worth less than the parchment it’s printed on,” Severus snorted. He slowly and shakily helped himself to a small bowl of porridge. It was the only item on the table that he thought he could stomach at the moment. 

Lupin smiled that infuriatingly calm smile of his. “I suppose so… But some news is better than no news, yes?” He ate a bit of his porridge and pushed some eggs onto his own plate. Then, he held out the plate of toast to Severus. “Some toast? I made it softer than last time.” Severus watched him reproachfully. Lupin raised an eyebrow and set it down, picking out a slice and taking a bite. “Not poisoned, either,” he announced, his tone light.

“Don’t mock me,” Severus hissed, and snatched a piece of toast. In his haste, he nearly dropped it in his porridge, and was only saved from a nasty spill by his reaction speed. Lupin raised both hands in mock surrender and returned his attention to his own food. Severus stared at him a moment longer, daring him to continue making snide comments, but nothing was forthcoming. He wondered if he would prefer a fight to this almost  _ civil _ breakfast. 

“I didn’t intend on doing anything of the sort,” Lupin replied. Wisely, he didn’t elaborate, or else Severus would’ve been able to work up enough rage to start yelling again. These days, it seemed like he could barely do anything without wanting to yell. It was better than being treated… Like  _ this _ . It made him jumpy. 

Severus woodenly chewed his toast and mechanically spooned the bland porridge into his mouth. Lately, it seemed like everything was too bland--by no fault of his, of course. But richer foods turned his stomach, which was unpleasant for everyone involved. Not only that, but he had a hard time swallowing particularly hot, spicy, or otherwise  _ interesting _ foods, which meant he was stuck with consuming what essentially amounted to pig feed. He hated it. He never thought he would miss Hogwarts, but right now, he missed the Great Hall and the elves’ cooking. At least they were more creative with their choices, and would at least be able to make things other than stew, toast, and porridge. 

Eventually, after eating one piece of toast and about half his bowl of porridge, Severus found that he couldn’t continue forcing food down his throat. He felt vaguely like throwing it all back up again. Lupin, on the other hand, seemed perfectly happy to keep eating. 

“You’ve eaten enough to feed half the town at this point,” Severus remarked somewhat nastily. “Is there any wonder you’re always unable to afford anything?” 

Lupin looked up, surprised that Severus had initiated the conversation, but his eyebrows knitted together soon enough at the barb. “I eat when I can, Severus,” he replied, his tone pointedly even. “I’m afraid I haven’t quite shaken the habit of wanting to eat as much as possible every meal, because I’m not sure when I’ll get the next one.” 

Severus couldn’t bring himself to glare at Lupin for that response. He knew that feeling too well, even though the memory felt so far off now. Before he could wander down that path of memory lane, the sound of clattering against the window disrupted their breakfast. 

“That must be the Daily Prophet,” Lupin announced, standing up to let the owl inside. A rather put-upon-looking grey owl swooped into the room, landing on the kitchen counter. Lupin detached the rolled up newspaper from the owl’s outstretched leg, left two knuts in the leather pouch on the owl’s other leg, and bade it farewell after handing it a treat. “Hm…” He scanned the headlines. 

“More news on Potter’s heroics?” Severus drawled, putting on an air of smug boredom. 

“No…” Lupin frowned at the paper. “It looks like people haven’t heard from Harry in weeks, actually. No one’s saying anything about him. Last time I got a letter from him, he was feeling very stressed… I told him to take a break from the Wizarding world, maybe travel a little or find a place to rest until all of this dies down. I suppose he took that advice to heart.” 

“Hmph. Whatever happened to that Gryffindor bravery you lot are always going on about?” Severus muttered snidely. Lupin shot him a glare. 

“Bravery has nothing to do with this, Severus. Everyone deserves a break.” 

“Do they now?” Severus asked, a dangerous glint in his eye. Lupin was looking down at the paper, and missed the expression on his face. 

“Of course they do. Even you.” Lupin looked up in time to see Severus reach for a mug to hurl at the wall. With a practiced flick of his wand, every throw-able object in Severus’s vicinity scooted away from him, just out of arm’s reach. Severus snarled impotently and cast his gaze around for something else to vent his anger on. Finding nothing, he settled on stoking the flames even higher. 

“Not when the  _ greater good _ is at stake,” he fumed, but before he could work himself up to the towering rage he wanted to reach, Lupin spoke again, reading something else from the paper that stopped him in his tracks. 

“They said they’re looking for you, Severus,” he said quietly. “The Auror Department finally released a statement… Apparently, there was a raid on your home in Spinner’s End the other night. They confiscated many of your old possessions, but they found evidence that there was someone living there until a few weeks ago, when two Aurors initially entered the house.”

“... So all of my belongings…” 

“I believe they’re currently in Ministry custody, yes,” Lupin confirmed. “It also says that all of your Gringotts accounts have been frozen after seeing recent activity on them. However… I suppose it’s not all bad news. The goblins have been very tight lipped about you, and won’t confirm if you’re alive or dead. The general consensus, however, is that they need to recover your body, dead or alive, so that at least some closure can be had.” 

Severus snorted. “Closure,” he muttered, “Of course. Closure. I suppose the only ‘closure’ I will receive is a lifetime stint in Azkaban.” 

“Don’t say that, Severus,” Lupin chided. “You have many supporters. Harry is among them--and I believe many of the former Order members can be persuaded in your favor. I think Kingsley may even--” 

“Somehow, I highly doubt that even the Boy Who Lived And Is Now Missing can persuade people to stand down from punishing the man who killed Albus Dumbledore,” Severus spat bitterly. “Not to mention countless Muggles and other innocents. I have blood on my hands, Lupin. Returning would be counterproductive to all of yours and that Healer’s efforts. Not that it wasn’t already a completely fruitless affair--I have no idea why any of you would concern yourselves with a known Death Eater and turncoat--but it would still be in your best interests to keep me hidden, lest this time investment be a complete waste after all.” 

Lupin spent so much time processing his words that Severus almost gave up on waiting for a response when he finally spoke again. “I wasn’t intending on telling anyone that you are living here with me. It wouldn’t benefit either of us, from a practical standpoint, you’re right about that. Actually,” he gave Severus a surprisingly self-satisfied look, “I believe staying here would be the best idea for you. I mean, no one would suspect you of living with me, right?” 

Severus huffed. “I suppose so. But what will we do when we inevitably run out of money? I cannot draw anything from my accounts, and neither of us have work.” 

“I…” Lupin set the paper onto the table and went to fetch something from a drawer in the kitchen. “I do have… The pension given to me as the widower of an Auror who died in the line of service,” he said, quietly. Severus’s eyebrow twitched. 

“Oh yes, that woman,” he replied dismissively. Lupin gave him a sharp look. “I suppose you’ll start weeping about how you feel unworthy of the money now, will you? That you’re alive, and she’s not?” Lupin opened his mouth, then closed it again with a snap. Severus barreled onward. “Aside from that, I highly doubt that whatever money is enclosed will be enough to care for two grown men.” By now, his voice was starting to tire, and he took a long swig of lukewarm tea to soothe his throat slightly. 

“I’ve been looking for a job, you know--it’s just that… Well… I’ve been busy here.” Lupin gave Severus a sidelong glance. “It’s not your fault--I signed up for this, after all--and Healer Dietrich--” 

“I already know you’re sacrificing quite a bit for me here, Lupin!” Severus snapped. “What are you waiting for, a thank you? For me to grovel at your feet and kiss the hem of your robes?” 

Lupin looked rather taken aback. “No, of course not!” he protested, but Severus didn’t quite believe him. At any moment, someone will come to take what was owed. Either a laugh at his expense, or some service that Severus would certainly not survive after performing. “I would never ask that of you, Severus.” 

“ _ Right _ ,” Severus snarled, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “And I am the Minister of Magic. There is  _ always _ a price to be paid, Lupin. Name yours! What is it?”

“I swear on my life, Severus, I’m not asking anything from you in return!” Lupin replied exasperatedly. “Why is it that you must suspect every deed I do for you? Is it not enough for me to say I  _ want _ to do something for you?” 

“How could you  _ possibly _ want to do anything for me?!” Severus stood abruptly and refused to sway, even as his vision nearly blacked out. “You, of all people? Why should I believe you?” He narrowed his eyes as he backed away from Lupin, his steps slow and faltering. “... You  _ do _ want something from me,” he said quietly, when he realized what was left. An option he hadn’t dared think about yet, in all his weeks of captivity, because it was so depraved he doubted even Lupin would stoop to that level. “You want  _ favors _ don’t you?” he hissed, unable to even form the words necessary. Lupin looked confused for a moment before understanding dawned in his eyes, and he stood, his face a mask of anger. 

_ So that was it, then _ , Severus thought faintly even as Lupin crossed the room in two long strides and grabbed him by the arms. 

“What?! You think too low of me, Severus,” Lupin growled. His arms--no--his whole body was shaking so hard that Severus was shaking right along with him. Still, he stared Lupin in the eyes, which was a largely useless venture because werewolves had a natural resistance to Legilimency. At the moment, all he could discern was righteous anger, which he could have learned without Legilimency anyway. “I would never,  _ ever _ ask you of anything you didn’t willingly want to give.” 

“How about my  _ freedom _ ,” Severus spat. “Or perhaps you think that plying me with favors and helping me recover will somehow endear me to your advances? I have news for you, Lupin--I am not so lonely or desperate as to seek the company of someone like  _ you _ .” 

The anger faded from Lupin’s amber eyes, and hurt slowly filtered in. Severus almost felt bad for him. Almost. He didn’t have much pity left in him for the plight of others. 

“So that’s how it is, then,” he scoffed quietly. “Now that I’ve seen through your plan--” Interrupting Severus’s words, Lupin suddenly let go of him and pushed him away, leaving Severus to stumble back against the wall he hadn’t realized he was so close to. 

“I’m leaving, then, since clearly you have recovered your faculties enough to question my every move,” Lupin said coldly. “If you need me, you can send an owl to the old headquarters. Harry said he would be happy to have me, and at this point, I would honestly prefer the company of Mrs. Black to you. Goodbye, Severus.” The door shut behind him with a clack, followed by the faint pop of Lupin summoning his belongings with him. 

Severus felt a brief triumph before the adrenaline wore off, and left him slumped in a heap on the ground. Lupin was gone. He had finally seen sense, and understood the futility of helping Severus when he didn’t want to be helped. 

It took him nearly half an hour to work up the energy to push himself upright and drag himself to the stairs. On the way, he haphazardly vanished the food, although if he missed some and hit the plate instead, he wouldn’t know. No more arguing. No more annoying werewolves. No more people pretending they cared about him. For the first time in years, Severus fancied that his life was looking up. 


	5. Good News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus is lonely, and Remus receives the best news of his life, but has no one to share it with. Obviously, this means they can solve each others' problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra long chapter this time! 9k words, definitely my longest chapter yet, because it has some important character development moments in it, as well as like... Actual dialogue?? Wow!! They actually get to talk to each other like real adult human beings (or, one full time human and one part time human). Also, as innuendo-y as my summary might seem, I actually intend on them building up friendship and trust before we get to the uhhh rolling around in the sack, so to speak. 
> 
> As usual, huge thank you to my beta, solemn-vow! She's always here to make sure my story is on track.

Peace lasted for less than a day, because that afternoon, Healer Dietrich arrived. 

“Remus, are you there?” the Healer called, knocking on the door. “I’ve come for your guest’s weekly checkup!” 

“Bugger,” Severus muttered from his place on the couch. He had been listlessly lying about the house for the better part of the day already, and had completely forgotten that they were expecting Healer Dietrich that day. He didn’t get up from his place on the couch, debating whether or not he should answer the door. Vaguely, he remembered that the Healer had arrived with an Auror the first time, and was therefore able to get past the wards with relative ease. He may also cause property damage if he were to break down the door… Severus heaved himself to his feet and put on his best glare in preparation for answering the door. 

Standing in the shadows, he pointed his wand at the door and spelled it open to reveal the ever-cheerful Healer standing outside, his hand raised to knock on the door again. A smile spread across his face and he stepped inside, thankfully alone. 

“Severus!” he greeted, as soon as the door was closed. “It’s good to see you up, but you should be resting. Is Remus out at the moment?” 

“Yes.” Severus’s tone contained so much finality that Healer Dietrich immediately broke his gaze to glance around the dark and slightly dusty rooms. 

“I hope you didn’t kick him out...” he commented, raising an eyebrow. “Remus cares a lot about you.” 

“You mean he was a selfish prat who had his own reasons for helping me,” Severus hissed, glaring at Healer Dietrich. “And at this point, I assume that you do too. This is my last checkup, correct? Just get it over with and get out.” The Healer pursed his lips, but said nothing as he pulled out his wand and motioned for Severus to find somewhere to lie down. Severus obliged, if only to get the man out of the house faster. 

The Healer went straight to business for once, and it wasn’t until the very end of the checkup that he spoke again. “You shouldn’t have kicked him out,” he observed conversationally, but Severus knew exactly where this was going. 

“You would have too, despite all your good will, if you found out what I did,” he replied, but didn’t clarify.

“What, you killed another man other than Albus?” Healer Dietrich replied sarcastically. “Or maybe you killed a child for fun? Because I think that’s one of the few unforgivable things that would wear out my kindness.” 

“Why not just murder? You know my name, you must have read what I’ve done.” 

“Sometimes, murder is the only option,” Healer Dietrich replied, his gaze firm and steady. “We were at war--sometimes there was no other choice. You had no other choice.” 

“There is _ always _ another choice. That is the Slytherin way.” Severus stood abruptly, jabbing a finger towards the door. “You’re done. You have no idea what the context of my unfortunate association with Lupin is, especially considering he has no reason to help me beyond garnering a particular kind of favor. Now get out. I never want to see you again.” 

Healer Dietrich didn’t move, merely humming thoughtfully. “Although what you’re thinking may be part of it,” he replied without missing a beat, “I highly doubt Remus is the kind of man to expect that sort of favor from you in return for caring for you. In fact, I have a feeling all he wanted was to spend some time in peace and quiet, reading by the fireplace.” He glanced at the book that was currently lying on the cushions and the half-finished cup of tea sitting precariously on the arm of the couch. “A bit of company, is all.” 

Severus snorted. “Then, he is seeking the wrong sort of company. Lupin was always extraordinarily bad at picking his companions, considering now they are all quite _ dead _.” He made a more forceful gesture towards the door. “If you are quite finished lecturing me, get out of my house.” Healer Dietrich finally stood and headed for the door. 

“Goodbye, Severus.” He paused for a moment in the doorway, mulling something over. “And I was always under the impression that this was Remus’s house, not yours. And here I was under the assumption that it was Remus’s house. Good day.” Before Severus could respond, Healer Dietrich shut the door with a quiet click and left. 

The bastard didn’t even let him get the last word, Severus fumed silently as he locked the door and stumbled back to the couch. And all that guilt tripping--it would all be for naught, because Severus refused to feel guilty for kicking out an unwanted intruder in his life. The less time he spent feeling bad for Lupin, the better. 

That night, he couldn’t fall asleep because he couldn’t stop imagining Lupin withering away in Grimmauld Place. 

The night after, he couldn’t fall asleep because he couldn’t stop wondering if the same cabin fever that had gripped Black would befall Lupin, and the man would go mad. 

A week and many sleepless nights later, Severus was forced to finally conclude that unfortunately, Lupin was the only human contact he had left. 

  
  
  


When Remus showed up at Number 12 Grimmauld Place a few weeks ago, he was disgruntled and missing about half of his belongings. There were only so many things he could summon to his side, and frankly, he didn’t even want to think about what Severus might be doing with the remaining items. Burning them, most likely. Melting them with a cauldron full of acid, if they wouldn’t burn. Something along those lines. 

Merlin, _ Severus _ . Remus considered himself slow to anger and even slower to react, but he had simply gone too far. To accuse him of something so horrific--Remus knew he was not the perfect example of a man, but he also knew there were some things he would never even consider asking for. To think Severus truly thought so little of him, to think Severus really, truly believed that he was staying around so he could ask for _ sexual _ favors. Remus didn’t think of Severus that way, at least not outside of intrusive thoughts as a teenager, but that was then, this is now. Besides, everyone had strange, hormone-addled thoughts as a confused teen. Perhaps what rankled him the most was the realization that he _ could _ , if he wanted to. There would have been nothing Severus could do to resist him if he truly set his mind to it. They were both afraid of what Remus could do, even though logically speaking, he knew he would never. But when had his body’s reactions been logical anyway? Remus thought bitterly. He certainly couldn’t _ control _ turning into a beast every month, and once he turned, he couldn’t control his feral urges unless he had some kind of external help. 

That path of thinking was rapidly deteriorating into what he recognized as his usual cycle of self doubt, and he tried to push it aside in favor of getting up out of bed to make breakfast. 

Grimmauld Place was a rather lonely place to live in. Although the primary living spaces within the house had been cleaned thoroughly, there were still many dangerous rooms and hidden traps. Although the Order’s traps for Severus had been disabled, there was still an unmistakably eerie quality to the house on a whole. Harry, at the moment, was holed up somewhere on vacation. Remus paced outside the door for nearly an hour before he remembered that he could send his Patronus to Harry with a message, asking him if he could stay in Grimmauld Place. A response had come quickly, in the form of Prongs. He knew, of course, that Harry’s Patronus was a stag, but it made his heart ache nonetheless. 

Thus, he was permitted to stay at Grimmauld Place, at least until he found a stable job, which if Remus was optimistic, he knew was most likely going to be nearly impossible. 

Just as he was settling down for his breakfast (scrambled eggs and toast), two owls flew into his room, one after the other. The first held the usual Prophet in its talons--Remus scrounged up two knuts and an owl treat for payment. The second was an unfamiliar, bored-looking barn owl. Clamped in its beak was a thick envelope bearing an official-looking wax seal. That would be the monthly stipend. He sighed quietly to himself as he broke the wax and pulled out the accompanying letter and cheque, along with the empty platitudes and parroted sympathies they contained. It was doubtful that even a single tear was shed during the process of writing the letter, regardless of how many times the author of the letter proclaimed it. 

Next, he picked up the Prophet. The front page splash featured a picture of a newly established Wizarding town, somewhere in Northern France, and was lauding it as _ the _ location to be in to start a new family. Typical. It had been barely more than a month since the Battle of Hogwarts, and the news was already finished reporting on it. The press had a way about it that let it move forward incredibly easily in a way that left the people far behind in the dust. He couldn’t tell if he preferred the rapid speed or not. At the very least, it was one outlet he could rely on to not dwell too heavily on the past, at least not until it made a compelling story. 

Flipping to the advertisements section, he went through the motions of perusing it. He had already either applied to and been rejected by the jobs advertised in the paper, or he knew he would surely be rejected. But… Perhaps he would try the Defense Daily ad again. They were always looking for new writers for the journal, in order to put out more regular content, and Remus felt he would be able to make a reasonable contribution. Still…

Before he could work up the motivation to do anything, someone knocked on the door. Today truly must be the day of disrupting someone just as they are about to do something, Remus thought dryly. He heaved himself up and stretched, his joints popping in a way that might’ve been satisfying ten years ago. Then, with a thoroughly wrung-out sigh, he stumped to the door, trying to shake some of the lethargy from his countenance. 

“Remus! Good to see you, how are you faring?” It was Minerva. Remus blinked. 

“Minerva--I’m doing fine, thank you, how are you?” he asked as he ushered her inside. Minerva shook her head.

“I cannot stay, I’m afraid, since we are in the process of rebuilding Hogwarts, but I did come with an offer.” She laced her fingers together behind her back and looked Remus in the eye. “As you know, we are short of staff this year, by several members… We are, so to speak, very much at our wits’ end trying to find teachers. Despite being able to fill the Muggle Studies, Transfiguration, and Potions positions, we have yet to find a suitable teacher for teaching Defense. We truly have exhausted all of our resources.” Her tone made it obvious that they had not, in fact, exhausted all other resources. “I came--unofficially, of course--to inform you that our applications are open for the position, and that we are very likely to immediately take on the next suitable applicant. In fact, the position will even come with a down payment, for prep work to be done during the summer, since the class’s syllabus is a complete mess.” 

Remus boggled at her. Minerva furrowed her eyebrows. 

“Of course, I am sure there are others who would be more than happy to fill the position. We have asked far too much of you lately, and I’m sure you will want to--” 

“No--” Remus quickly yelped in protest, before composing himself. “I would be happy to come back to teach--but are you sure that’s the best idea? I… I _ am _ a werewolf after all… The parents would worry, and…” He trailed off uncertainly. Surely, he was shooting himself in the foot. This was his chance--his chance for a steady, well-paying and well-respected job, one that would not only give him money but one that would provide room and board--one that he had before, only briefly, but greatly enjoyed. Minerva just smiled, relief etched in every line of her figure. 

“Thank you Remus. As you know, the job itself is highly dangerous. There were rumors that You-Know--Voldemort had cursed it after he was rejected from the job. I believe the curse has been broken with Voldemort’s death, but there are many people who do not wish to associate with Hogwarts any longer because of the war, and even fewer who are both willing and capable of taking the position.”

Remus smiled wanly at her, still not quite willing to believe his ears. He half expected her to suddenly transform into a Death Eater and shoot a killing curse at him, or for her to turn into Tonks, who would laugh and say it was all one big joke. Sure, it wouldn’t be funny, but since when were the jokes that were played on Remus ever funny? 

“Here is the official application,” Minerva continued, shoving an envelope into his hand. “Now, I really must be going. There is a Muggle Studies professor from Spain I need to meet with today. Hopefully, she’ll be willing to take on that role in the wake of Charity’s… Departure. Goodbye, Remus. I hope to hear from you soon.” She gave him a quick wave and stepped off of the porch, leaving a bemused Remus standing in the doorway as she Apparated away. 

Remus stared at the empty space that Minerva vacated for nearly five minutes before he managed to slowly creak the door closed. A job! A job--one that had very neatly landed right in his lap--and a job that he loved! He didn’t know what to say, what to do--he had to get ready, he could recycle some of his old lesson plans and… 

Stepping back into the darkness of the hallway, he let out a wild whoop and sprinted upstairs to his room to flop down onto the bed, giggling like an excited teenager. He felt possessed, like he had just rolled back twenty years of his life and was an excited boy, fresh out of school and eager to find new opportunities. Of course, there was still the tiny, dark voice in his head that snidely reminded him that good things don’t last, and it certainly hadn’t lasted previously, but at the moment, he was too excited to care. Just the prospect alone was enough for him to feel like he was floating on a cloud, high above the problems of the world. The war was over, he had the potential for a job--He grinned excitedly to himself. He needed to tell someone! Of course, he would owl Andromeda (for the third time in as many days, but she hadn’t returned any of them), but… There really was nobody else. Harry needed a break from the Wizarding world, and he didn’t want to bother any of the other members of the Order… Sobering up at that thought, he sat up and went to scrounge up a piece of parchment, a quill, and some ink to write to Andromeda. 

_ Dear Andromeda, _

_ Today I received some great news. Minerva--as acting Headmistress--is inviting me back to Hogwarts to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. I do hope that a steady income will allow me to set aside more time to visit Teddy. _

_ I hope you are both doing well, and look forward to your return letter. _

_ Yours, _

_ Remus Lupin _

Of course, he didn’t say that perhaps having a steady job would convince Andromeda to allow him to visit. The only reason why he wasn’t spending every second of the day with his son was because his mother in law refused to lower her wards for Remus. Since he hadn’t wanted to bother anyone else with assisting him, he had to give up and return to Grimmauld Place with his tail between his legs. Nothing could be done, to put it simply. He had been trying ever since he got out of the hospital--but apparently nothing was swaying her. Of course, he still tried to write, but he rarely, if ever, received a message in return. The owls had not been coming back to him, so he assumed that the letters were arriving. Perhaps she simply took them and burned them. The thought made Remus rather antsy--he wanted someone, anyone, to celebrate this news with him. A wave of melancholy struck him by surprise, and he felt himself sinking back into the loneliness that he had been wallowing in during the past week. 

A thought struck him. Perhaps he could write to Severus. He did know the man’s location, and provided he hadn’t moved yet… Remus pulled a fresh piece of parchment towards himself and dipped his quill, but paused. What would he even say? He hadn’t written to Severus before, and even if he had, he still wouldn’t know what to say. ‘Hello, I know you hate me with every fiber of your being, but unfortunately I have not yet kicked the bucket, and have instead received the best news I’ve heard in years’? ‘I hope this letter finds you well--’ that was stupid, of course Severus would be unwell, ‘Dear Severus, I just received an incredibly fortuitous and generous offer from Minerva to teach at Hogwarts again. I wanted to let you know because I have nobody else to write to, or at least nobody that will respond to me’? ‘I’m sorry for storming out on you, because truth be told, I am rather offended at the idea that you accused me of being a pervert with no social skills. In other news, I received a job offer from Minerva to teach at Hogwarts!’ 

He set the quill down and ran one hand through his hair, tugging slightly to force himself to focus. No, no--that was all wrong. Maybe this was a mistake after all. Severus probably didn’t give a rat’s ass about what he did. In fact, Remus was willing to bet that his acerbic ex-roommate would appreciate being left alone. 

Eventually, he decided to simply write what came to mind, blast the consequences. What was the worst Severus could do? There was no way the man could show up in person, due to the extent of his injuries, so he was in no danger of being hexed in his own home. At most, he might receive a Howler in return, but there was no one else in the house to humiliate him in front of. His nerves mollified, Remus set about composing--for the fifth time--his letter to Severus. 

_ Dear _

_ Hello _

_ S _,

_ How are you? I understand we did not leave off on the best note, and I apologize for my behavior. I hope you don’t fault me too much for how I reacted--you were in pain and feeling trapped, and I should have understood you would jump to conclusions. I assure you yet again that I was certainly not helping you with the intent to ask favors from you, sexual or otherwise. You do not owe me for a deed freely given. _

_ In other news, I received a job offer from Minerva to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. I believe you were the last man to have a true syllabus for the class. Perhaps I could come over to compare notes? I value your expertise in the area, for obvious reasons. _

_ If you are indeed willing and of good enough health to meet me, please respond with this owl. It has been instructed to wait for your response. _

_ I look forward to seeing you again. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Remus Lupin _

_ P.S. I chose not to include your name in this correspondence. I’m afraid the war has gotten me quite paranoid! Perhaps we could come up with an alternate name for you. _

He reread the letter and deemed it satisfactory. At the very least, he thought that enough time had passed between his last conversation with Severus and this one for the man’s anger and resentment to have died slightly. Or, of course, it could have gotten worse, but Remus hadn’t survived this long being a pessimist. Now, he needed to send it. 

The trip to Diagon Alley was fairly uneventful. He Flooed into Flourish and Blott’s, headed to the owl post, and set off two owls. In light of recent events, he treated himself to a small selection of the year’s most recent Defense textbooks--not only a perfect opportunity to buy new reading material, but also relevant to his new job. He was excited! There probably wasn’t a single thing that could bring him down now. By the time he returned home, late in the afternoon, he was humming contentedly to himself as he settled down in the library to peruse his new books. 

  
  
  


Severus woke to the sound of a light rapping on his window. Making a disgruntled noise, he glanced blearily at the clock hanging above the mantelpiece. Who in Merlin’s name could be sending him letters? Or perhaps it was meant for Lupin, and had merely gotten lost on the way. He groaned to himself and tried to bury his face back into his pillow (which was honestly getting a little rank, he needed to wash it soon). The tapping continued, then paused. Just as Severus thought the owl was gone, the tapping renewed with increased vigor. With a snarl of frustration, he pushed himself upright, wrenched the window open, and yanked a protesting brown owl into the room with a flurry of feathers and down. 

It was not _ for _ Lupin. 

It was _ from _ Lupin. 

And it was for _ him _. Severus gritted his teeth and angrily scanned the letter. They said that distance makes the heart grow fonder, and he wondered why he had ever entertained memories of finding the wolf pleasant company. Clearly, he was mistaken, because this letter inexplicably managed to stoke his rage from it’s usual low simmer to a roaring inferno. It was clearly, obviously, trying to flatter him. Apologies? Wanting to ‘compare’ lesson plans? What kind of man did Lupin take him to be? Severus was certainly not desperate enough for human company to seek out an old enemy. In fact, he was quite sure he has had enough of human company for a lifetime, and every time he forgot, he would soon be served an ample reminder in the form of one Remus Lupin. 

He knew the best way to get Lupin to stop writing to him was to simply ignore him, and outlast the man’s stubbornness. 

His own vindictive nature refused to let Lupin get the last word. 

Which was why he was now angrily scratching out a wobbly message on the back of the piece of parchment. 

_ Lupin, _

_ You must truly have gone daft and senile in your time spent away from me, although I do not doubt that staying in Grimmauld Place has reduced whatever remained of your brain matter into useless mush. What about ‘Leave me alone’ can you not understand? _

_ As for the lesson plans, go ask someone else. Minerva has copies of mine--I never cleaned them out after Albus _ (there was a rather large ink blot as Severus’s quill hesitated) _ departed. _

_ Perhaps I should spell it out for you in clearer terms: do not contact me again. _

_ \-- S _

_ P.S. I would use a pseudonym if I we were resuming contact, but seeing as this is the last you will hear from me, I refuse to spend precious time and energy on thinking up something simple enough for even you to remember. _

He tied the letter to the owl’s leg and shooed it out after feeding it a treat. 

  
  
  


Remus was just stepping out of the shower when the owl returned to him. Recognizing it as the one he had sent to Severus, he gleefully untied the parchment and opened it. The handwriting on it was a familiar spiky scrawl, made slightly difficult to discern from the slight wobble it had. He frowned. Perhaps he should also owl Healer Dietrich… He might be suffering from some kind of permanent nerve damage after the attack. Flattening the letter out on the table, he bent over it for a closer look. 

Of course the man would refuse further contact, but the fact that he had written back at all was a good sign. It was also probably a sign of how lonely Remus truly felt, but he was happy that he had gotten anything at all in return. He also noticed that Severus had not responded to his apology, which was neither an acceptance nor a rejection, which was far more than he had expected. However, the letter was far too lengthy for him not to respond to, however. He knew that Severus absolutely had to get the last word on anything and if he did respond, well, that would only mean Severus needed to as well. He pulled out a new piece of parchment and began writing. 

_ Slytherus, _

_ I hope this is an acceptable nickname. I believe Potterwatch--the wireless radio show, I’m not sure if you listened to it or not--used it as a nickname for you, and I find it rather amusing, if somewhat unoriginal. They did name me Romulus though, so I suppose I’m not one to complain. _

_ As for the lesson plans, I would vastly prefer to receive them from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. Minerva is wonderful, but I do not wish to trouble her. It seems she already has her hands full dealing with other new hires, I don’t want to add any extra burden on her! _

_ Since you seem greatly opposed to meeting again in person, perhaps we can continue communicating via owl. I’ve been meaning to buy one anyway, now that I am planning on becoming a professor full time. Hopefully, I can keep the job this time. _

_ Tentatively optimistic, _

_ Remus Lupin _

  
  
  


The gall. The nerve. The sheer _ audacity _ . Severus ground his teeth as he scribbled out another reply. It was dark by now, and he was writing by the light of a flickering candle, but it didn’t matter. Remus Lupin was not about to get the last word on Severus Snape. He didn’t care if he was being manipulated, he didn’t care if he was now actually holding a _ conversation _ with a human being, he just needed to vent his spleen. 

_ Lupin, _

_ You will cease at once with the ridiculous nicknames! Of course I listened to Potterwatch--in fact, all of the nicknames were quite ridiculously bad, but I admit yours was a grave mistake. Romulus? If the Wizarding world were any more familiar with Muggle myths, you would have been found out almost immediately. They should have named you Rascal instead--it would certainly be more accurate. Not only that, anyone who even remotely knew the speakers would have been able to instantly recognise the voices anyway. _

_ As hopelessly dimwitted as you are, I’m certain you can fumble your way through your second year of teaching just fine. The first time you taught, you certainly caught the attention of the student body, to say the least, and I suppose it was likely one of the better years of Defense that the students had received… Not high praise, considering one would be comparing you to the likes of Lockhart and Umbridge. Regardless, the students that year did not fail as horrifically as in other years, so I suppose a mild congratulations is due. _

_ If you will cease this inane conversation, I will allow one meeting, and one meeting only. One hour. Tomorrow afternoon at two pm. Do not be late. _

_ \--Prince _

  
  
  


Remus grinned. Severus was talking to him! And he didn’t sound _ too _ angry, or at least no angrier than usual. After spending a month in the other man’s presence, he had begun to learn how to interpret ‘Snenglish’, which meant that the true meaning of his words were often shrouded behind several layers of double entendre and a thick helping of sarcasm. 

The gist of the letter was that Severus would be happy to have him over at two in the afternoon tomorrow. 

_ Prince, _

_ This nickname is far better than Slytherus, in my opinion. Better than Rodent too, might I add! _

_ I look forward to meeting you tomorrow (or today, rather, depending on when you read this letter). I will do my best not to raise your ire to the point of being shouted out of the house again. _

_ Best, _

_ Remus ‘Rascal’ Lupin _

Remus folded the letter feeling oddly lighter and saved it to send tomorrow. The poor owl had exercised enough, and he had worked up quite the bill with the Owl Post. He would have to think about investing in his own owl eventually. 

  
  
  


The next day, Severus woke early--or earlier than usual, at any rate. His internal clock was irreversibly ruined by the fact that he had slept nearly constantly since he was forced inside. That and the fact that sleeping in let him stretch his meals to two per day. Being that he couldn’t actually go outside to buy food--even if he wasn’t injured, he would still have trouble buying food as a dead man--he was stuck scrounging up what he could, and using magic to make his stores last a bit longer. Of course, transfigured food was never quite _ right _, but beggars can’t be choosers. Having eaten, he stood to hobble around the house until the owl arrived with Lupin’s letter. Today. He was coming today. Severus hoped that Lupin wouldn’t demand to stay for dinner, because he barely had enough food left to feed himself, much less satisfy the near-endless appetite of the werewolf. 

Time could not quite make up its mind on whether it should crawl or sprint. Severus found himself attempting to find something, anything, around the house to occupy himself with. There was an emergency store of potions, as well as a simple iron cauldron complete with the bare minimum of materials necessary for most basic brews. They were all going stale, of course, because someone hadn’t bothered to seal the jars with wax before leaving. Or better: they could have used Tupperware containers. He found out a few years ago that they were perfectly serviceable in a pinch, with the added bonus of being quite good at long term storage due to the rubber seals. 

At almost exactly 2 pm, someone knocked on the door. Severus jerked out of the light doze he had fallen into and stumbled out of the sitting room chair. Surreptitiously, he glanced at his reflection in the side of a steel kettle. Even in the warped metal, he could see the dark bags under his eyes and the discoloration of skin at his throat. As good as could be expected. He usually made a point of not looking at his reflection in mirrors, and for good reason. 

He peered owlishly out the peep hole in the door, and seeing that it was indeed Lupin outside, he wrenched the door open. He had to clear his throat several times before he could speak, and even then, it was in the whispery rattle that he had been reduced to by his wounds. 

“What color is the dressing gown in my wardrobe?” he demanded, using his arm to block the way in. Lupin furrowed his eyebrows. 

“There really isn’t a need for--” 

“What color. Is the dressing gown. In my wardrobe?” Severus ground out, his eyes flashing. 

Lupin watched him reproachfully before he dutifully answered. “Yellow and orange,” he replied. “Or at least that’s what it may have once been. It’s now rather closer to grey.” 

Nodding, Severus stepped back and allowed Lupin to enter before swinging the door closed. The nosy, insufferable werewolf was already glancing around as if trying to find something to criticize about Severus’s living conditions. Sure, there was a thin layer of dust in some areas of the house. Fine, the dishes in the sink hadn’t been washed for several days. Alright, there was almost no food left in the pantry beyond a stale piece of bread and moldy cheese. It was at that moment that he saw the package in Lupin’s hands. 

“What is that?” he asked suspiciously. “Another prank?” 

“No, Severus,” Lupin replied, setting the package on the dinner table. He waved his wand over it, and the package unraveled and expanded to reveal a hamper of food. Severus’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair. 

“Why did you bring that? Another attempt at poisoning?” 

“Of course not.” Lupin then got a rather devious look in his eye that Severus did not altogether trust. “When will you start saying ‘yes’ to the things that I ask you?” Lupin asked. 

Severus blinked. What? Where had that question come from? Of all the dunderheaded things that he could have asked or said, Lupin chose _ that _? 

“I may not be a Seer, Lupin,” he hissed, “But even I can predict that will not happen any time in the future, near or far. Just speak your business and be done.” 

“Right.” Lupin pulled out a sheaf of parchment from his pocket and spread it out on the table. “I have a draft of my plans here… Of course, I’ve recycled some of my ideas from my first year of teaching, and made a few edits here or there. Perhaps you have some input?” 

Severus glanced at the plans and snorted. Trust Lupin to actually have put thought into this meeting. “I’ll take a look later. For now, stop making a mess on my dinner table.” He waved his hand at the hamper. “Just looking now, I can tell you that you are placing far too much faith in the ability of fourth years to attempt countercurses. In addition, the NEWT level students will require remedial--Lupin, are you even _ listening _?” 

Lupin was still just standing there, watching Severus with the oddest look in his eye. Severus felt a trickle of uncharacteristic self consciousness creep down his spine, and glared harder. 

“Lupin.” 

“Ah--Yes, Severus, my apologies,” Lupin offered him a smile that wasn’t quite reassuring enough. Severus narrowed his eyes. “I was just thinking… Have you had lunch yet? I haven’t, and I certainly could use some sandwiches right about now.” 

“Where is this inexorable obsession with food coming from, Lupin?” he snarled, backing up slightly to put himself closer to the hallway. “Unable to restrain the ravenous beast any longer?” 

Lupin closed his eyes and sighed, running one hand through his hair. “I was just offering.” 

“Because you think I can’t take care of myself?” Severus was working himself up to a rage again, and oddly, the burning in his chest felt rather satisfying after spending his days wallowing in emptiness. 

“I simply noticed you looked a bit peaky, and could probably use something nourishing.” 

“And that’s why you brought the hamper, I assume?” 

“From what I understand,” Lupin picked up the hamper and went to deposit its contents into the pantry, “You may have some trouble picking up groceries for yourself. Despite your doubts in my goodwill, Severus, I am not so angry with you that I would leave you here to starve to death.” 

“Fine. Make your sandwiches. I won’t eat them.” Severus crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. Lupin shrugged. 

“Suit yourself, Severus. I, for one, have been craving a roast beef sandwich all day.” Humming tunelessly to himself, Lupin bustled about getting out the right ingredients to make a sandwich. Severus groaned internally and finally slunk away from the wall, sitting down at the dining table to peer hawkishly at Lupin’s class notes. 

“As I was saying,” he muttered over the sound of crinkling paper and Lupin’s incessant humming, “The NEWT-level students will require supplemental material as well as remedial lessons. Of course, some of the more astute students may remember a marginal amount of the information I provided during my year of teaching, but there is only so much I cram into their tiny brains in such little time. They have probably forgot almost everything I tried drumming into their heads already. The OWL students are likely even worse off.” He squinted down at the last page, which was a course for all the former seventh year students who wished to return for another year of education. “Hm. For the eighth years, you should consider teaching more advanced material. No doubt their time with the Carrows was sufficient in teaching them what to expect from a practitioner of the Dark Arts, or at the very least what _ not _ to do.” 

“Yes, I thought that… What would you suggest I teach then, Severus?” Lupin asked. His tone was just lighthearted enough to make a muscle in Severus’s cheek twitch. 

“_ I _,” he ground out, “Would suggest covering more arcane Dark Arts and how to defend against them. In addition, other forms of magic that do not technically qualify as Dark Arts but are equally insidious. For example, Legilimency. A basic course would do, one class reporting on the effects of the spell and how to counteract it and recognize when someone is performing Legilimency on you. If they are no longer the dunderheads they were in previous years--which I highly doubt--they will have no trouble with such an assignment.” 

“That would indeed be useful,” Lupin nodded. “But Occlumency is an art that does not come easily to everyone, Severus. Perhaps it would better suit them to…” 

“I never suggested you teach them Occlumency,” Severus said dryly. “I suggested that you teach them about Legilimency. Occlumency takes years of intensive training to master, and even then, not every witch or wizard has the innate ability to master it. Some will never even scratch the surface.” He glared at Lupin, who had made one sandwich and was moving onto the next. “No, I just mean to recognize when it is happening so they may take… Another route. For example, avoid initiating eye contact with the Legilimens, or using a spell to disrupt the Legilimens’ focus. Even something as primitive as a light stinging hex may be enough to interrupt the connection between their minds for long enough to escape.” 

“That is excellent advice, Severus.” Lupin sounded actually _ eager _ to listen to him, which Severus found increasingly worrying. Was the man truly so desperate for some company that he would pretend to enjoy talking to _ Severus Snape _? It was all just incredibly suspicious. “I should write that down… Would you happen to have a quill and ink anywhere?” Severus jerkily indicated a drawer near the sink. “Ah, thank you--” Lupin brought over two plates, each with a roast beef sandwich on it, and settled down to scribble a few notes onto the parchment containing his notes for the eighth years. “Is there anything else you believe should be changed?” 

Severus pointedly ignored the plate that was set in front of him and settled for skimming over the remaining papers. Surprisingly, it wasn’t all bad, and that fact only worsened his temper. 

“The remainder of your lesson plans are… Adequate,” he muttered, dropping the parchment back onto the table and slouching back in his chair. “I have no idea why you even bothered to ask me. Stop wasting my time, and just tell me the real reason why you have interrupted my peace.” Lupin watched him thoughtfully, chewing on a mouthful of sandwich. Severus glared harder. “_ Well _?” 

“I… I suppose I wanted to see how you were faring,” Lupin admitted. Severus furrowed his brow. “I was originally going to owl Healer Dietrich to have him check up on you again--” 

“Which would have been a mistake, as I would have hexed him into next week,” Severus interrupted balefully. 

“I highly doubt he would have trouble subduing you, but the point is--” 

“The _point_ _is_, I am not entertaining this ridiculous conversation for any longer than I must.” 

“Severus, I’m trying to get there, but you keep interrupting me. As I was saying,” Lupin held up a hand to shush Severus as he opened his mouth again, “I just wished to have some insight. Of course, if you have none to give… I suppose I’ll just have to ask someone else. I had my hopes up, given your expertise in the area, but perhaps I was mistaken.” Severus glared at him openly. 

“_ What _ ?! Of course I have significant insights on--” he closed his mouth with a snap and glared at him. “You are trying to rile me up. It won’t work. Now get out.” Lupin smiled far too innocently at him and took another bite of his sandwich. “Was I unclear, or was your chewing too loud to hear me over? I said: _ get out _.” 

“I think I would like to stay a little while longer,” Lupin replied rather cheerfully. “You mentioned having better ideas, yes? I was hoping I could hear some of them.” 

Severus groaned and was silent for a few moments longer before he launched into an in-depth analysis of the differences between jinxes and hexes, and why some spells fall into one category versus the other. It wasn’t until the end of the conversation that he realized that an hour had passed, and he had subconsciously been eating tiny bites out of his sandwich until there was little more than crumbs left on his plate. It also took him until the end of the conversation to realize that they were, in fact, holding a conversation. Maybe there was something in the sandwich. A coercion potion, perhaps, or maybe Lupin cast a spell on him. Either way, when he next looked at the clock, he was surprised that nearly two hours had gone by, and the parchment was covered in mismatched scribbles and corrections. Lupin looked far too content. The suspicion never left Severus’s mind, although at this point, he was starting to tire. Having just eaten his first full meal in days and having to talk to someone for so long was starting to grate on his nerves. 

“Are we quite finished?” he asked, finally, when the conversation lulled to a pause. Lupin looked startled, and fished out a worn watch to check the time. 

“It _ is _ getting rather late,” he admitted, pocketing the watch. “I suppose I should be going. Perhaps we can talk again soon, Severus.” Lupin stood and went to deposit his plate into the sink for washing. Severus watched him silently. The only movement in his body were his eyes, which followed Lupin around the kitchen like a hawk.   
It was only when Lupin was getting ready to leave when Severus stood and stared him down imperiously. “Why?” he asked, his voice hoarse from overuse. “Why are you here? Why do you insist on coming to me? Why didn’t you just leave me to my own devices?” Why? Why? _ Why _? 

Lupin looked conflicted for a moment. “Because… Well, frankly, because I have no one else to talk to,” he admitted. “I know you can be decent company if you really put your mind to it, Severus, so I chose to come to you.” 

“But--” Severus gestured expansively, indicating a crowd of people that weren’t really standing there. “You--you could--I am sure practically anyone else in the world would make better company than someone like me. You are a sodding war hero, Lupin, I do believe your newfound celebrity status comes with a few benefits.” 

Lupin smiled and shook his head. “War hero or not,” he replied quietly, his eyes downcast, “I am still a werewolf, and our society is still adamantly refusing our rights. In fact, I daresay it has gotten worse, especially due to the werewolves’ support of Voldemort during the second war. Job prospects for me are lower than ever.” Severus suddenly noticed all of the lines and scars marring Lupin’s face, each one tracking the years of pain and exhaustion that Lupin had stalwartly battled through. He shook the thought from his mind, wrung it out, and let it fade beneath the misty surface of Occlusion. Lupin continued, not noticing Severus’s rising distress. “I feel that… Perhaps we have more things in common than I originally realized. And if I may be so presumptuous, you could have a future with a little bit of help if you allowed yourself.” 

“Somehow, I highly doubt it,” Severus sneered. “Do you really, truly believe that something you cannot prevent or stop puts on the same level as someone like me, who could have chosen any other path in life but chose this one anyway? You may be a spineless sycophant, but at the very least your only mistake was ignoring a boy who couldn’t be saved anyway. Your actions--or inaction--did not cause the deaths of countless people!” 

Lupin sighed. “This may come as a surprise, but there are worse things in the world than you, Severus. And I have stared many of them down. You’ve paid for Lily’s life with the rest of yours--and now that you’ve been given a second chance, why won’t you take it?” 

“Because I don’t deserve it Lupin, don’t you realize?” Severus’s voice escalated in volume, even as the scratchiness made it difficult to keep spitting the words out. “I don’t deserve a second chance! I’ve fucked everything up over and over again, and every time I get a second chance I threw it away because everything I touch, I destroy!” 

Lupin grabbed his arms as Severus teetered dangerously. “You _ saved _ the Wizarding world, Severus. I know not everyone believes that, and I know you have many people who hate you, but why are you adding to that number? The only person whose opinion of you you can control is your _ own _. You already have too many detractors… Why are you adding yourself to that number?” 

Severus had nothing to say in response to those words. The logical half of his mind was nodding along, agreeing with Lupin that in the grand scheme of things, a life for a life was already quite enough, but his life for the Wizarding world? That was more than a good trade, and he should be allowed to reap its benefits. The emotional half of his mind, the half that was blackened, and shriveled, and so, so injured, schemed and muttered mutinously. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. 

“Severus… You know… I’ve always admired you for how little you cared about the opinions of others. But clearly there _ is _ one person whose opinion you do care about--your own. The only person who can stop this cycle is you. The only one who can stop you from hating yourself is you. Look!” Lupin gestured widely around them. “It’s just us in here, and the only one who hasn’t forgiven you is _ you _!” Maybe he was pushing too hard, but part of him knew that if he wasn’t firm with Severus, he wouldn’t be able to fight through this. He would retreat, crumble, and never rise back up again, and frankly that was not the image of Severus that he always had in his mind. The Severus in his mind stood--a looming, imposing shadow--amidst the turmoil of the world, standing still as if his feet were anchored to the very core of the Earth, and there was no force in the world that could sway him from his path. 

Severus stared at Lupin, jaw agape, eyes wide and unbelieving. His vision swam, the dining room came in and out of focus in swirls of light and shadow. His knees trembled and where it not for the fact that Lupin was gripping his arms tightly, he may have fallen over. Instead, he merely tilted forward, until his face was hidden by lank, black curtains of hair. 

“I…” his voice was faint, like wind rustling in wintery grass, “Lupin, you need to _ leave _ before you make a promise you cannot keep, and being the idiot that you are, I have no doubts that you _ will _.” Severus felt his hands raising--his arms trembling from the effort--until he dug his fingers into Lupin’s robes. His fingers, skeletal and clawlike, gripped the cloth in a vise-like grip. 

When Lupin spoke, his voice was gentle, and so were his hands. “I intend on keeping this promise, Severus. I’m done running.” His thumbs traced small circles against Severus’s biceps, a gesture so intimate that Severus almost felt sick. His stomach turned, rejecting the very notion that someone can and was touching him with no malice in their thoughts. 

They stood like that, silent, with Severus clinging to Lupin like a stubborn limpet, until his mind eventually stopped reeling at the enormity of Lupin’s words and processed the situation he had wound up in. 

Immediately letting go, Severus stepped back, feeling cold air against his face. Lifting one hand, he realized he must have been--He had not cried in _ years _\--well, a few months--and he was not about to start now, and certainly not about to in front of Remus sodding Lupin. 

“You should go.” He turned away and raised one arm to brusquely dash the wetness from his face. There was no room for sentimentality, not--Not during what? It seemed like he had almost forgotten how to have a life. There was no war, certainly nobody out to kill him, because who would go out to kill a dead man? And he would actually be dead soon, certainly, without Lupin’s help. At this rate, he would continue paying off debt for the rest of his life. Severus scowled balefully at the spot in the ground before him, as if staring long enough might open a deep chasm to swallow him up in. Or at the very least swallow Lupin up, because the hairs on the back of Severus’s neck tingled as the wolf edged closer. 

“_ Go _,” he repeated through gritted teeth. The presence paused. 

“I was just thinking that perhaps you… Once you are able to take care of yourself… Perhaps you could secure a job for yourself.” Lupin suggested meekly. 

“And waltz right into the arms of waiting Aurors?” Severus rolled his eyes, then rolled his eyes again but exaggerating his head movement slightly, for Lupin’s benefit. There was a quiet chuff of laughter behind him, and he would have whirled, robes flaring out around him, if it weren’t for the fact that he was still desperately trying to dry his face. 

“I meant in disguise, of course. Perhaps you could cut your hair.” 

“No. I am not cutting my hair.” 

“A prosthetic nose then, perhaps?”  
“No. I will not stick things into or onto my face that do not belong.” 

“So, no colored contacts then, either?” 

“Somehow, I have a feeling that neither method would suffice to disguise me from the wider wizarding world, Lupin,” Severus bit out. “Of all the idiotic ideas you could be suggesting--”

“But perhaps there is someone we can share the secret with?” Severus could hear Lupin thinking--which came in the form of a truly unnecessary amount of chin tapping and huffing noises. 

“Stop huffing, you sound like an asthmatic steam engine,” Severus hissed. “Fine. If it will satisfy you.” 

“It would, very much so.” The smile on his face was almost audible. “It would certainly make up for the fact that your Gringotts account is locked.” Severus could not help but wonder if the Ministry had confiscated all of his gold as well. He had not named any next of kin, and in any case, he was already disowned by the Prince family (and any extended family they may have), which meant the gold within the vault would default to the Ministry. It was likely gone by now. His stores had been reasonably full, for a triple agent and professor at any rate, and it was now likely lining the pockets of Ministry officials who didn’t need the money anyway. 

“Are you satisfied now?” Severus asked, switching the topic of conversation. He still did not trust himself enough to turn around. The injury and the end of the war--his many shields and walls were damaged and crumbling, their very foundations blown out, leaving him nearly defenseless. He loathed to think about how someone could very well take advantage of his weakened state to learn… Things. Almost none of his jealously guarded secrets would need to be guarded anymore. That alone was enough to make Severus’s stomach do somersaults again. 

“Yes, very much.” The sound of shuffling parchment filled the air as Lupin organized his lesson plans. “Same time next week?” he asked, conversationally, as if he was not asking Severus a question, but one of his _ real _ friends. Black, perhaps, or Potter. 

“If you must,” he drawled in response. Finally, he turned, feeling assured that his face was no longer blotchy and his eyes no longer threatening to betray him with useless waterworks again. He scowled as the most insipid smile bloomed on Lupin’s face the way mold bloomed out of rotten fruit. 

“I will see you next week, then.” Having collected his things, he stepped out into the hallway. Severus followed him, a malevolent shadow in the darkness of the house. The door opened, letting the splendor of the sunset briefly knife through the gloom of the house. Absurdly, there were still birds chirping, and while the sun was no longer high above the treeline, the sky was a pleasant robin’s egg blue. Severus blinked and took in all the strangeness of the life around him. At the soonest opportunity, he had summoned dark, black drapes to cover the windows, and rarely ever peered outside. He had forgotten it was summer, forgotten the world existed, and forgotten his place in it. A strange melancholy overtook him as he stood silently in the open doorway, all thoughts of secrecy gone. 

“Severus?” Lupin, damn him, broke the trance. Severus scowled--when had he stopped frowning?--pointing in the direction of the forest. 

“Go,” he said, simply, and Lupin went, with the barest hint of a smile, Apparating away to who-knows-where. 

For the rest of the afternoon, Severus sat on the porch, letting the sun’s rays shine on him for the first time in days. 


	6. Double Booking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Severus brew potions together and talk about plans for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, this chapter is a bit filler. I originally wrote something very different, but I had to take it out because it would wreck the flow of action worse than just making the chapter largely filler. Although... I guess it depends on your definition of 'filler'. We do get to see a bit more bonding, after all! 
> 
> Once again, big thank you to solemn-vow, my awesome beta, who is being very patient with me.

A world away, Petunia Dursley puttered noisily around her kitchen, pulling out pots and pans, dicing vegetables, and doing whatever it was that Petunia Dursleys did on afternoons like this. It was just an hour before Vernon Dursley would arrive home, his mustache quivering and face ruddy from the summer heat, and Dudley would eventually stumble in after him. Life was slowly returning to normal, but Petunia had been keeping a special eye on the mail. She was waiting, waiting for a letter to come. Some news from the strange man with a stranger smile, the one who promised her that her day of retribution was coming. She didn’t know what drove her to seek out that strange man, just that perhaps one day, she would be able to strike back against She-Who-Must-Be-Forgotten and The-Boy-Who-Stole-Her. 

The sound of a key turning the door drove Petunia from her thoughts, and she bustled over to the hall between the kitchen and the entrance hall. 

In came Vernon, squeezing through the door, huffing and puffing and wiping sweat from his brow. 

“Welcome home, Vernon,” Petunia greeted him, in her usual trembling voice. 

Vernon only grunted before he heaved himself upstairs to change into something more comfortable in the summer heat. Petunia was about to return to the kitchen when Dudley came in as well. 

She missed her old Duddy-Wuddykins, the little angel who she could always rely on to make a big fuss over everything. Only the best for her little cupid. But now, Dudley had changed. He was sullen and quiet, and looked like he was putting more thoughts together every minute now than he had for his whole life previously. Petunia hadn’t wanted that fate for her son, not at all. Her son, who was supposed to be safe from those freaks, had been changed by them after all. If she didn’t know any better, she might have suspected them of replacing him with a changeling, but she knew her son too well. 

Dudley Dursley was thinning now, and his eyes looked a thousand miles away. He looked rather like a deflating balloon, because now that there was less fat than before, his skin didn’t know where to go and simply sagged in place. A year spent hiding among the wizards had done him no good. He was quiet. He barely ever talked to any of his old friends anymore. He didn’t want to punch anybody, break anything, or run anywhere. In fact, he was a mere shadow of his former self. 

Petunia didn’t know what to do. She had tried everything, from sending him to a psychiatrist (the only reaction had been mute nods and shakes of his head) to arranging playdate after playdate with his friends, but none of it worked. In fact, his friends had gotten rather fed up with his sullen and withdrawn attitude, and were stubbornly leaving him alone. Vernon said it was all the wizards’ fault, them and their freaky ways, and Petunia had to agree. 

She decided that she was also doing this for Dudley. Maybe if she vanquished those freaks, her old Dudder-Wudders would come back to her. 

“Dudley!” she enthused with a smile that she didn’t feel, and pulled him close to kiss his cheeks. “Welcome home. Where have you been all day?” 

Dudley said nothing, merely holding out his bag, which contained books. Dudley  _ never _ read books. Vernon had always thought reading to be a frivolous activity, as long as the writing was not about drills. Dudley had agreed, at least until now. Now, he was spending so much time in the library that his skin had gone pasty. 

And so their days went by. Petunia worried. Vernon worried. And Dudley? Dudley read. 

  
  
  


A week went on without much incident. Remus found himself holding back from checking in on Severus, and instead focused his energy on sending owls back and forth with Minerva to secure his place at Hogwarts. Evidently, news of his application had leaked at some point, and the Prophet was now reporting on him. They were rather hot and cold about it. Sometimes, he was reviled as a werewolf--other times, he was lauded as a war hero. Remus shook his head and skipped to an article about a Muggle artifact that showed up near a wizarding home. It was far more interesting to see Wizards puzzle on and on about Muggle technology. His favorite by far was the one about Nargles. 

During the week, he also experienced his first full moon since he left the old Order safe house. The basement at Grimmauld Place had already been reinforced during his last stay, but he nonetheless checked all of the wards and protective enchantments in the place. Even though nobody was in the house with him, he was not about to risk letting the werewolf loose in the middle of Muggle London. 

He woke up the next morning aching and bleeding, but still locked inside the basement. The door had taken a beating, as had the walls, but all had held. Remus stood on wobbly legs and found his wand, which he had stashed behind a loose brick. No sense risking the wolf snapping it during a frenzy. Then, he muttered the charm that would let him out of the basement and stumbled upstairs to his room. 

As he was convalescing, he received a letter from a large, handsome eagle owl. 

_ Remus, _

_ Based on the tellings of the Prophet, it seems that you were, indeed, serious about this new job as a professor at Hogwarts. I still highly doubt you will have the time to give Teddy the care he needs, but you may visit him on occasion, should you choose. Do not come today, I know last night was the moon, and I do not want you to infect him with anything.  _

_ I am free in three days’ time. You may come then.  _

_ Andromeda Tonks  _

Remus sat bolt upright, all exhaustion forgotten, and winced as he cracked open a still-healing scab. Heedless of the bloody, dotted stains he left on his bedsheets, he rushed to his desk to pull out a quill and parchment. 

_ Andromeda _ ,

_ I would be delighted to see Teddy, at your earliest convenience, of course. Three days’ time is perfectly reasonable for me. As the school year has not yet started, my schedule is very flexible.  _

_ Best, _

_ Remus Lupin _

It wasn’t until the owl was gone that he remembered he had promised to see Severus on the same day. But summer days were long, and somehow, Remus doubted that Severus would keep him longer than necessary. Besides, it could be a topic of conversation between them! He grinned broadly and winced again. There was a scratch on his cheek that twinged in protest. 

Now that he was out of bed, Remus decided to treat his wounds. No sense allowing them to get infected. Plus, now that he put his mind to it, he needed to wash and change his bedsheets… Collapsing into bed right after a transformation always left his sheets a bloody mess. Not to mention, he had to clean up some of the bloody footprints he left throughout the house--

“If someone didn’t know I was a werewolf, they’d think I was killing people in the basement,” he muttered. Granted, he didn’t know how much  _ actual _ killing went on in this house. Sirius had always been somewhat tight lipped about his ancestral home, and it wasn’t like he could ask Mrs. Black (who would not have answered him, even if he still had the portrait installed). 

He found his way to the bathroom and began pulling out first aid supplies. Most of those were leftovers from the time the Order spent occupying the space. A majority of the potions had been brewed by Severus. Remus found himself tracing a finger over the cramped handwriting, although it was more to help him focus than anything else. In the meager light of the bathroom, it was rather difficult to decipher Severus’s writing. Frankly, the bottle could contain quite literally anything, for all the use the label was. Remus finally gave up on trying to read it, and simply held the bottle up to the light. Inside was a clear blue liquid, spangled with reflective shards of light, that he recognized as Nerve Regeneration Potion. The next bottle was a deep red, which he assumed was Blood Replenishing. A smaller bottle contained a milky white liquid inside, but when he uncorked it and sniffed, the unmistakable fresh tang of dittany drifted out. Finally, he discovered an acid green potion whose label was much larger and therefore less cramped. Antiseptic. He wondered if the coloration was meant to be ironic. Antiseptic first. He didn’t know what kinds of infection he may have picked up in the basement and on the way to the bathroom. The antiseptic hissed and burned. Remus gritted his teeth. Cleaning, healing, then bandaging his wounds was tiring work.

By the time he was finished, the sun had already set in the sky. He must have slept later than he realized, and now that he was done, he wanted nothing more than to sleep for another day. But he needed to eat, his complaining stomach reminded him. Remus slogged to the kitchen and forced himself to eat a banana as he warmed up the soup he made yesterday. After that, he dragged himself back to bed and slept deeply. 

  
  
  


It wasn’t long until it was time to see Severus again. Remus found himself rather excited, all things considered. Severus was good conversation, even if Remus often found himself baffled and wrongfooted. Every time he tried to comfort or help Severus, he found himself rebuffed with increasingly alarming remarks. Part of him knew it had to do with being a spy during both wars--paranoia, violence, and unrest tended to leave many scars both visible and otherwise--but another part of him wondered if it ran deeper. He had not missed how Severus was simultaneously trying to push him away while gripping his robes like his life depended on it. At some point, Remus realized, they had inexplicably knotted together their lives so deeply that it would be nearly impossible for him to extricate himself. Of course, he could just leave Severus to his own devices, to die alone in the cottage in the woods, but he couldn’t. He  _ couldn’t _ . It just wasn’t  _ right _ , not for someone who had sacrificed so much. Not that he didn’t think Severus wasn’t too stubborn to die, he just didn’t want him to suffer any longer. He deserved to be happy. 

Remus realized that he hadn’t ever seen Severus truly  _ happy _ in all the years they knew each other. Of course, he hadn’t paid him much attention--whether out of shame or indifference, he didn’t want to know--so he couldn’t say for sure, but he knew that as a boy, Severus didn’t have many friends, and didn’t do anything to endear himself to anyone. Still, as an adult looking back, Remus knew that was still no reason to bully him, or to stand aside and do nothing while his friends did. He as good as threw those hexes himself.

The morose thoughts clung like cobwebs in his mind, sticky and hard to shake off, gathering all the detritus of his past and rolling them all up in one messy ball of lint. Remus picked up the week’s groceries, stepped out of Grimmauld Place, and Disapparated away to the cottage in the woods. 

  
  
  


A short walk away from the cottage was the Apparition point, and perhaps it was foolish of him to be there, but Severus stood in the shadows of the trees nonetheless. He had cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself, and could feel the cold ripples running over his body like dappled shadows. The sun had decided to make its presence known very insistently that day, and as a result, the forest was alive and teeming with movement. It made Severus twitchy. Every now and then, an animal would rustle the bushes behind him, and his wand hand would jerk while his lips formed the shape of  _ hominem revelio _ . Each time, the spell revealed that there were no more than the odd rabbit or squirrel rustling in the leaves, busying about their days without a care in the world. 

He hated summer. 

Just as he decided that perhaps Lupin was not about to show up after all--he was  _ not  _ disappointed, he was bitter to have his time wasted--the unmistakable crack of Apparition broke the peace, sending a flock of birds fluttering up to the sky. Lupin was here, checking his shabby watch and straightening his shabbier robes. 

“You’re late,” Severus hissed, from the trees. For a brief second, he wondered if the rustlings of the life around him would mask his weakened voice, but Lupin gave an almost comically dramatic double take. 

“Sev--Prince?” he asked, somewhat incredulously. “Are you sure you should be out of the house right now?” Then, Lupin appeared to gather himself up and approached where he must have thought Severus’s voice came from. He was off by a tree or two, but Severus was not about to correct him until he was sure of his identity. 

“Tell me,” he continued, “What happened during Christmas of your fourth year that was… Unusual?” 

Lupin’s face colored, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. Severus had been particularly proud of that particular prank--it hadn’t been easy to lace Black’s belongings with it, but he had managed it in the end. Just in time for Christmas. 

“The…” Lupin’s brow furrowed, then he made an incredulous face. “That was  _ you _ ?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “He always thought it was James--and James thought it was me--but  _ you _ ? How did you even get into the Gryffindor dorms?” 

“I have my ways.” Severus couldn’t help but smile smugly, even though Lupin couldn’t see him. “Continue, if you will. I am not quite satisfied that you are indeed Lupin.” 

“If I must--Sirius received a pair of charmed underwear. At first, he thought it was a joke from James, since the underwear had Sirius’s face stitched crudely to the front, until the underwear started talking.” Lupin put a hand over his face, and Severus thought he saw a hint of a quickly hidden smile. “It was… About halfway through breakfast--Sirius had put the underwear on, over the pair he was currently wearing--and it started wishing everybody a Happy Christmas and asking if anyone would care for a ‘small present’? We didn’t know it was his underwear until we got back to the dorms and it was still talking. Needless to say, the pranks between us that Christmas were legendary. I still cannot believe that was you! Did you ask Lily to help you?” 

Severus was still wearing a smug grin when he responded, waspishly. “I have  _ some _ secrets I would rather keep, Lupin. Are you going to ask  _ me _ a confirmation question?” 

Lupin rolled his eyes in Severus’s general direction. “Oh for--alright.” He thought for a moment. “What was the prank James pulled on Slughorn and blamed on you in our third year?” 

“He caused my potion to erupt, turning the old man’s mustache purple and gluing his nostrils shut. He had to go to the infirmary.” Severus felt significantly less smug now, and glowered at Lupin invisibly. “Satisfied?” 

“Very,” Lupin replied mildly. “Let’s head to the cottage, shall we?” Severus quietly muttered the revealing charm once again. The only humans nearby were him and Lupin. Still, he wanted to get out as fast as he could, now that Lupin was here. There was no telling who or what might be following them. Part of Severus just couldn’t shake the strange feeling of being  _ watched _ . 

Lupin went on ahead, Severus following like a particularly ornery shadow. 

“I still think it’s good that you’re out and about, Severus,” Lupin began, in what Severus imagined was supposed to be a conversational tone. He grunted noncommittally. His health was none of Lupin’s concern anyway, despite his unwanted caretaker’s insistence to the contrary. “Has Healer Dietrich checked up on you recently?” 

“No.” Severus knew that he would get his ‘leave me alone’ message through to  _ someone _ ,  _ eventually _ . 

“Oh… I suppose I shall be the one doing your checkup, then?” Lupin suggested. 

“ _ No _ .” He shoved a stray branch out of the way as he walked, a short distance behind Lupin and slightly off the path. Lupin sighed, ducking under the branch that Severus purposefully-not-on-purpose allowed to whip backwards in his direction. 

“There isn’t anyone else here, you can show yourself if you like.” 

“No.” 

“Is the word ‘no’ that all you’re going to say to me today?” 

“Yes.” Severus scowled magnificently in Lupin’s direction, but was deflected with a mild smile. 

“You have already gone back on your word, I see,” Lupin replied, a hint of smugness in his voice. The scowl on Severus’s face, impossibly, deepened. 

“I thought you were concerned about my health, Lupin,” he replied, dropping his voice even lower so Lupin had to visibly lean closer to hear. “My voice may never recover if I am forced to converse in too many words.” 

“That may be your fault as much as mine,” Lupin replied, infuriatingly calmly. “After all, you are the one who insists on using overly complex terminology, not me.” 

Severus remained silent, staring at him a moment longer before going to unlock the door. They both stepped inside, blinking to adjust their eyes from the brightness of outdoors and the dimness inside. 

“Was there anything in particular you wanted to do today?” Lupin asked in what may have been an attempt at a conversational tone as he enlarged and deposited a hamper full of a week’s worth of groceries onto the dining table. 

“Aside from wasting my time talking to you, no,” Severus muttered venomously. But he really  _ didn’t  _ have much to do during the day. He had already blazed through almost every book in the house (there was a particularly insipid romance with a horrifying cover that he was not yet desperate enough to consider reading), and there was little else he could do with his hands shaking so much he almost cut himself trying to preparers complex meals. 

“Hm… Well, I suppose we may start with my revisions so far…” 

The next half an hour passed quickly, with Severus making suggestions and Lupin scratching them down. It was only when Severus broke down in his fifth coughing fit in as many minutes that Lupin paused and gave him an appraising look. 

“Are you sure you don’t want anything for your throat?” he asked, sounding worried. Severus glared.

“Whatever potions the house may have had in store are long expired, and the ingredients will soon follow. That being said, I can barely prepare a sandwich, much less attempt brewing a simple soothing solution.”

“Perhaps I can help,” Lupin offered. 

Severus snorted derisively, and had to pause to clear his throat before he continued. “I would sooner let an elephant try than let you, Lupin.”

“Well—if you instructed me, perhaps we could try. You did say a soothing solution was quite simple, yes? Surely I can manage something so easy, especially with your guidance.”

Severus glared at Lupin, his eyes roaming over his face in search of deceit. There was none, at least none that he could discern. 

“... Very well. We need a break anyway.” 

“Potion-making… A break. In what world?” Lupin muttered, not quite quietly enough for Severus not to overhear. 

“Just because  _ you _ brew so poorly your Cleansing Solution looks more like a Muddling Tonic, does not mean that applies to everybody,” Severus sniffed. “I happen to find brewing very relaxing.” Brushing past Lupin, he billowed down the hall and into the room where the potion-making equipment was being kept. Lupin, having no better things to do, followed at a short distance. 

  
  
  


Brewing with Severus was not relaxing in the slightest, Remus soon found out. If it wasn’t criticizing his cutting, it was nitpicking his crushing, or mocking his apparently pitifully lopsided stirring. 

“Brewing is an exact art!” Severus’s voice would normally have been raised to a yell, but was reduced to stage-whispering by his throat. “You cannot hope to  _ half-ass your way _ to a perfect potion!” 

“It’s a Soothing Solution, Severus,” Remus retorted, exasperation seeping into his voice. “It doesn’t need to be perfect!” 

“With your imperfect brewing, it will already be less than ideal--Merlin, Lupin, I have seen  _ Longbottom _ produce better potions than this miserable attempt.” Severus peered critically into the cauldron, which was bubbling merrily away. “The color should be a soft, blush pink right now, and the solution should be  _ simmering _ , not  _ boiling like molten lava _ .” The solution was, indeed, on the redder side, but Remus had to admit it was one of his better attempts. 

“It is rather difficult to brew with you breathing down my neck and shouting in my ear, Severus,” he replied, forcing down the anger. With his wand, he decreased the flame until the solution was no longer bubbling, but gently simmering. 

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and shoved Remus out of the way. “This is still salvageable. I just need to replace the dried dragon liver with something more potent…” Muttering mutinously, he reached for the last of their pickled dragon liver and levitated one out, letting it land with a splat on the cutting board. “Watch the potion. Slowly stir counter-clockwise until it reaches a jewel green tone, then inform me immediately.” Remus leaned over the cauldron and peered down at the potion. 

Meanwhile, Severus frowned over the pickled dragon liver, a sharp silver knife in hand. Even as Remus snuck peeks at him from over the cauldron, he could see Severus’s hand shaking so badly that the blade of the knife caught the candlelight over and over again, throwing flashes of white around the room. 

“Maybe I should--” 

“No. I will.” Remus saw the set of Severus’s jaw and decided not to argue when he had a sharp implement in his hand. Disrupting his concentration now may be more disastrous than just letting him attempt to cut the slimy dragon liver. 

He didn’t register that his stirring had paused until the potion let out an alarming gurgle that had him hastily returning to his previous stirring pace. It had now turned a sickly yellow. 

“ _ Fuck _ .” The hissed curse was almost drowned out by the noise from the potion, and Remus quickly glanced at Severus again. No blood. Okay. He then looked more closely, and saw that only a tiny piece of dragon liver had been sliced off. 

“Is it savable?” he asked. 

“Yes. Shut up and keep stirring. If the potion has not turned green by now, you need to stir faster before it bypasses green entirely.” Severus frowned at the dragon liver and returned to slicing it into thin strips, his hands shaking so badly that the strips ended up almost as bad as Remus’s previous attempts at slicing the dried version. A pang of sympathy pierced Remus’s heart before he could help himself. Potion-making was one of Severus’s many talents, but one that came most naturally to him--and one that he was sure Severus was the most proud of. To have that taken from him too… It just seemed like the world was not done taking everything from Severus Snape. 

“Here.” Severus brusquely shoved Remus aside again and directed him to the dragon liver. “Gather up the dragon liver while I attempt to rescue this abomination of a--how the  _ hell _ do you fuck up  _ stirring _ ?” Remus ignored the venom in Severus’s voice and dutifully gathered up the slimy strips of dragon liver. The potion--which had turned a strange vomit-green--was slowly becoming clearer and clearer, until Severus made a disgruntled noise and jerked his head, the indication for Remus to put the dragon liver in. “One at a time.” 

As the dragon liver was added, the potion stopped simmering and instead slowly grew tranquil, becoming more viscous and turning pink again, but this time looking more like bubblegum than his previous attempt. The liquid had reached an almost glowing pink color by the time Severus motioned for Remus to stop. Still holding a few slices of liver and a handful of the juices, Remus tried to ignore what was in his hand and instead watched Severus for his verdict. 

“Not red enough,” Severus muttered to himself, giving the potion his best glare, as if that was the mystery ingredient that would make it behave. “But still better than anything else we have in store. Looks like bloody Pepto-bismol.” Without any further preamble, he spooned up a ladleful of the syrupy potion and downed it before Remus could protest that it was hot. 

To Severus’s credit, he didn’t even wince as what must have been scalding hot potion and ladle came in contact with his lips. Remus winced and immediately went to fetch a cold glass of water, which Severus downed without a word. 

“Er… All better?” Remus asked tentatively, after waiting a few beats and watching Severus’s expression (which relaxed minutely). 

“The potion was… Passable. Imperfect, but passable. I will need another dose in half an hour, rather than the two hours it’s supposed to last.” 

Remus didn’t point out the fact that normal soothing solutions tended to last somewhere between an hour to an hour and a half. Severus was known to improve potions for fun, and he supposed the soothing solution was one of those potions he improved. One day, he will float the idea of Severus writing a new potions textbook with updated instructions. 

“Do you want something to eat before we get back to work?” he offered, as they trekked out of the makeshift potions lab. Severus had kept a small bottle of the solution, which was secreted away somewhere in his voluminous robes. 

“Tea. It’s afternoon,” came the terse reply, and Remus was happy to comply. 

“I think perhaps I should add a unit on common first aid potions,” he mused absently as he put the water on to boil. Reaching into a cabinet, he pulled out two chipped mugs and a pair of mismatched plates. “After all, anyone can use a potion if they know what it is. I’m sure Slughorn will teach them more in depth uses, but a bit of review never hurt anybody.” 

Severus snorted derisively. “Quite bold of you to assume that Slughorn has ever taught anybody anything about potions. That old walrus still taught using the same textbooks from  _ our _ year, which were already antiquated.” 

Remus winced. “I suppose you’re right,” he conceded. “I certainly didn’t learn much from his class.”

“I doubt even the most talented potions master could have drilled any potion-making skill into that thick skull of yours, Lupin,” Severus quipped snidely. “Based on your performance today, it is a miracle you survived the class in one piece.” 

“Not really,” Remus replied, opening a tin of tea and depositing a pinch of leaves into a teapot. “I think I left a bit of my soul behind trying to do all those essays he used to assign.” 

Severus rolled his eyes and leaned against the counter. “Personally, I think it’s more likely you misplaced a bit of your brain matter and put it into one of the potions on accident.” 

Remus laughed, and right when he was about to respond, the kettle whistled merrily. “Saved by the bell,” he muttered, pouring himself and Severus a cup of tea. The pair headed back for the table, where papers were still strewn about. “If you were not dead to the world, I would insist you return to teach. As… As much as I disapprove of your methods, you knew what you were talking about.”

“Of course I know, and if I were not strict, I would lose far more fingers and toes in that class,” Severus snarled, dropping sugar cubes into his tea. “Potions is not nearly as calm as your average classroom. Faulty spells can easily be repaired—but when every cauldron in the room is both a toxic waste hazard and a fire hazard, not to mention having multiple troublemaking students…” He did not need to finish to paint a picture of utter chaos. Another sugar cube plinked into his cup. 

“I suppose… But gentle instruction may help steady a few nervous hands.” Plink. “I believe Mister Longbottom would have benefitted from being a little less anxious in your class.” Plink. “Not everyone works well in a high pressure environment.” Plink. “Perhaps if the curriculum was altered to change the requirements for Potions…” 

Severus took a sip of his tea and said nothing. It had to be absurdly sweet by now. The undissolved grains of sugar swirled around the cup as Severus stirred. Remus had a sweet tooth, sure, but even  _ he _ may have complained if he had to drink tea that sweet. Part of him wondered if it was pride that caused Severus to keep drinking, and something more nervous that caused him to keep adding more. 

“A spot of lunch, then?” Remus decided to change the subject before Severus added any more sugar into his tea. “I believe there are some good materials for soup and sandwiches--” 

“For all the sandwiches you have fed me, I would imagine you either have very peculiar interests or lack the ability to make anything else palatable,” Severus complained. “Salad may be better. I assume you brought the materials for a simple one, at the very least?” 

Remus made a mock moue of offense. “Of course I did,” he pulled out the shrunken hamper from his pocket and cast an Enlargement charm on it. The food had fared alright, spending a bit longer in his pocket than necessary. “Do you take me for some kind of heathen? Greens are very important in a balanced diet.” Severus looked at him incredulously before huffing a bit of breath from his nose. Remus watched him settle in his chair with catlike fussing, and was suddenly struck by the urge to run his fingers through Severus’s hair. On the few occasions when he had been able to touch it, he found that it was surprisingly soft despite its appearance. Greasiness and many split ends notwithstanding, Severus had nice hair. It was just a shame he didn’t take better care of it. 

“I couldn’t afford to get too many types of dressing, so I settled for something simple…” Remus pulled out the remainder of the food, which had a variety of vegetables, a bottle of salad dressing, and a small package that smelled simply  _ divine _ , like someone had managed to distill the sweetest essence of summer and put it in a little cloth-wrapped bundle. Severus immediately gravitated towards it before Remus could stop him. “That’s for dessert!” he protested, even as deft fingers pulled apart the twine and peeled open the cloth. 

Inside was a small stack of lemon tart, from the bakery hidden behind an alleyway and a large sign, which Sirius had shown Remus many summers ago. It was an excellent bakery, and although it was a Muggle establishment, Remus had always wondered if some kind of magic had gone into baking its many goods. He--like most wizards--would not guess that the true magic of baking was to use no magic at all. 

Severus didn’t look like he recognized the hand of the baker, but he certainly seemed to appreciate good dessert. Remus remembered that back at Hogwarts, Severus had always picked at his food but always seemed to pick at his dessert just a fraction less. 

“ _ Accio lemon tart _ .” He pointed his wand at the tarts, which flew out of Severus’s hands. The only protest was a glare that could have stripped paint from walls. “I’m afraid that has to wait until  _ after _ we eat something more substantial. Have you had lunch yet? I realize I forgot to ask--” 

“Not yet,” Severus admitted, his tone grudgingly accepting that Remus was going to take control of the food for the afternoon. 

“You should eat more regularly. It may help with your moods.” 

“Are you implying that I am  _ moody _ ?” Severus demanded. “I am perfectly within my rights to be as unpleasant as possible, considering  _ you _ are the one foisting yourself upon my hospitality. What I eat and how I behave is none of your business, Lupin.” 

“Seeing as I am the only person currently eligible to be your caretaker,” Remus replied, “It does happen to be my business if you eat and how you behave.” 

“Healer Dietrich can come.” 

“I have a feeling you would rather he stayed away.” 

“You have no idea what I’m feeling, Lupin, unless you somehow managed to pick up skills in Legilimency greater than the Dark Lord, which I greatly doubt.” 

Remus sighed and contented himself with knowing that Severus was apparently feeling well enough again to spar verbally with anyone who dared breathe in his general direction. If he had to bear the brunt of it, well, he supposed he was just asking for it wasn’t he? 

“Did you know,” he said, pivoting the conversation once again, “Andromeda finally let me have a few visitation rights?” 

“No. I was unaware they were taken away in the first place.” Severus had an odd glint in his eye when Remus looked at him again. 

“Well--it’s not exactly… Between all the events of the past few months, there simply wasn’t time for me to spend time with him, and Andromeda took advantage of that to keep me away.” He gestured to today’s edition of the Prophet, which was draped over an armchair by the fireplace. “They were speculating about me teaching DADA again--and since that will likely shove me back into the spotlight...” he sighed again. “I suppose she didn’t want people to get nosy and accuse her of denying me my son.” 

“I suppose. Andromeda is not a stupid woman,” Severus conceded. 

“I’m actually supposed to be visiting later this afternoon,” Remus continued, feeling his face brighten up slightly. 

“Then what are you doing here?” Severus asked, suspiciously. “I have no doubt you would rather spend time with your precious son than a man you hate.” 

“I don’t hate you, Severus,” Remus immediately corrected. “And my son--well, I don’t want to overstay my welcome. Aside from that, we already planned for today, and I said I would not break my promises to you.” 

“Not even for your own flesh and blood?” Severus leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His chin was hidden behind his hands, and the rest of his face was hidden behind his curtain of long hair. Remus shifted in his seat. He looked like something that might crawl out of a cursed television set. 

“I told you I would not break my promises to you,” he said, quietly. “In the future, I’m sure times can be better arranged. I… I’m simply not in a place to be asking more of her--or of you.” He knew his next smile was slightly self-deprecating, but couldn’t stop his muscles from behaving that way. “I hope you understand.” 

Severus snorted. “What will you do when you are required to stay at Hogwarts to teach? There will be even less time, and your permanent residence will be at the castle.” 

“I’ll do what I must, although I still haven’t thought of a decent plan yet,” Remus admitted. Last time he taught, he didn’t have any problems balancing his social life, simply because he lacked one. Now that he had not one, but  _ two _ social obligations, he just wasn’t sure how to split his time. It was so unusual for him to have even  _ one _ regular social obligation that he now wondered if he had bitten off a bit more than he could chew. It did seem rather daunting--both Severus and Teddy were surprisingly similar in their neediness, although one was definitely more vocal about it than the other. 

Severus gave a noncommittal grunt and crossed his arms. Remus opened his mouth to apologize, but found himself meeting a glare so fierce that his words died before they ever left his mouth. Scrambling for something else to talk about, he carded his fingers through his hair, not noticing that Severus’s eyes flicked up to follow the movement. 

“You should go. You have other commitments,” Severus finally continued. “Mostly to your son.”

“But--” Remus protested. 

Severus rolled his eyes. “You owe him your presence in his life, and although I wouldn’t know anything about fatherhood, I imagine being there is better than not, correct? I certainly will not be going anywhere, but your spawn may disappear tomorrow with his grandmother to some far-off property. Andromeda may have been stricken from the Black family tree, but she is still a Black, and Blacks are unpredictable.” He narrowed his eyes and made a dismissive shooing motion. “Leave.” 

Remus wanted to argue, he really did, but he knew that Severus’s words made sense. Blood--family--came first. His son came first. That was something he couldn’t let himself forget. He had already let Teddy down once, he couldn’t do that again, but now he was torn. Double booking today was definitely not a good idea. Still, he was determined to see the positives. Before, he hadn’t had to worry about double booking because there simply weren’t people to double book. That was a positive. It was better that he had to worry about this than sitting alone in a dilapidated room with no friends, no family, and no job. This was infinitely better. He had everything he could possibly ask for. Finally, he nodded and stood. 

“Thank you for understanding, Severus,” he smiled gratefully. “Perhaps we could move our meeting to another day?” 

“Tomorrow, then.” Severus glared at him haughtily. “Unless you have some unknown second child waiting in the wings for your attention, that you forgot about until now.” Remus felt his face grow hot even as he let out a surprised huff of laughter. 

“No! No, of course not--Tomorrow I should be available. I suppose I should be off then. Andromeda’s expecting me in a few.” He stood, all while acutely aware of Severus’s dark gaze following him across the living room, down the hall, and out the door. Even when he was outside in the warm afternoon sunlight, he could feel Severus’s gaze following him--burning and freezing, coldly critical and heatedly passionate--all the way until he finally Apparated away from the forest sanctuary. 


	7. Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Severus think about the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof sorry this one was posted so late haha 
> 
> This is the last finished chapter that I saved up from NaNoWriMo, and uh... For some reason my brain decided "yeah this is plenty of time to write enough to be able to keep up the 1 chapter a week pace!" and then decided to literally not write at all for the whole of December lmaooo so.... regularly weekly updates might be inconsistent for the rest of the fic 
> 
> I'll try to keep up, but I doubt that between school and my own lack of self discipline, that I'll be able to keep up. I do intend on finishing this though! So... Through thick and thin, hell and high water, i'll finish this fic. 
> 
> This is also My Favorite Chapter so far. You really get to experience the gay yearning in this one (but it's mostly subtext)

Remus appeared again, quite some distance across England, in front of the rural home of Andromeda Black and Teddy Lupin. Her house was located a short distance away from a small wizarding village, and was layered in numerous protective spells and wards. The war had left a deep impression on Andromeda, and some part of Remus always wondered if Andromeda blamed him for Dora’s death.  _ She _ had followed  _ him _ after all, her no-good, werewolf husband, who Andromeda did not approve of in the slightest, no sir. And now, Remus may be in a stable enough situation to take Teddy from her, and she very much did not want that to happen. Tonks had passed on her gift to Teddy, and Andromeda clung to him like the green on leaves, fearful that something may happen to her final reminder of her daughter. 

Like most houses in the rural areas of England, Andromeda’s house had a distinctive rustic feel to it, and like most rustic-feeling houses, people were generally under the impression that raising a child there would be a dream come true. Remus had his doubts, however. Teddy needed friends--friends his age, primarily--which meant not being sequestered in a house under the care of an aging witch. He wondered briefly if Andromeda had ever heard of the story of Rapunzel. The poor girl had been nearly an adult before she was rescued. He hoped Andromeda would have enough sense to not grant Teddy the same fate. 

Taking a fortifying breath, Remus stepped towards the wards, feeling them crackle and ripple against his intrusion. Not keyed to him yet, then. Moments later, the door opened and Andromeda Tonks’ head appeared, framed in the relative darkness of her house. 

“Remus,” she greeted, and even from across the lawn, Remus could see her eyes narrow. He put on his best smile and waved genially at her. 

“I hope I’m not inconveniencing you by arriving so early in the afternoon,” he began, apologetically. 

“Teddy is taking his afternoon nap at the moment,” Andromeda replied, glaring down at Remus. “Perhaps you should come again next time.” 

“I’m afraid I’ve made other arrangements for tomorrow,” Remus continued, not about to be shouted down now. He had made it so far, and he had already bowed to the demands of one other person today (the fact that it was for his own supposed benefit notwithstanding). “But I’m perfectly happy to wait. I think a visit from his father would be quite a pleasant after-nap surprise for Teddy.” 

Andromeda made a harumph-ing noise and stepped back into the gloom of the house. For a moment, Remus thought that was it, and his visitation rights were--once again--stripped, but then, the wards bent just slightly, a tiny ripple in the air, and he found that he could step into the little bubble of safety where his son was safely asleep. 

When he stepped into the threshold of the house, Remus found himself gravitating instantly towards the upstairs bedroom. He had seen the house before, with its soft cream-colored walls and vine-patterned carpets and perfectly matched furniture. It achieved a look somewhere between effortlessly elegant and comfortable. He knew that actually, a lot of effort had gone into making the home appear that way. It was homey in a staged sort of way--like someone had done their best to make the house look lived-in but had fallen short by a few stray socks. 

Hurrying through the hall and past the living room, he climbed the stairs to Teddy’s bedroom. 

“Be quiet!” Andromeda hissed, following Remus up at a slightly more subdued pace. “You’ll wake him!” 

Remus shot her a sheepish smile and lightened his footsteps. The wood floor soon gave way to soft carpet, and he quickly found his way to Teddy’s room. The door was slightly ajar, just enough for him to peer inside.

Teddy lay in his crib, fast asleep, with an enchanted mobile turning in lazy circles over the bed. The room was awash in the sunlight that came streaming in from the windows. Remus felt something in his chest ease, and the tension he didn’t notice in his shoulders slowly slipped away. Teddy looked so peaceful, lying in the bed, cocooned and warm. 

“Are you quite finished?” Andromeda demanded in a whisper from somewhere behind Remus. He stared for a moment longer before retreating back into the hallway. 

“May I stay until he wakes?” he asked, hopefully. Andromeda glared at him.

“You saw him already,” she replied. “That was our terms, wasn’t it? You’d see him, and be done with it.” 

Remus pressed his lips together, just slightly, and squashed the scowl that was forming on his face. His  _ son _ was in that room, right next to him, and there was nothing he could do to keep him. A fierce protectiveness rose up from somewhere around the place where his heels met the ground, rising, rising, until it burned in his chest and clouded his vision. Taking a breath--not deep enough to let Andromeda notice--he let the tide slowly ebb into nothingness, and slammed the metaphorical lid over the pot before it could rise back up again. 

“I promise I will stay out of your way until he wakes,” he pleaded, knowing he sounded pathetic. “Please, Andromeda. I just want to be a part of my son’s life.” 

That was the wrong thing to say. Anger flared across Andromeda’s face, and she rounded on Remus. “You will  _ not _ come into  _ my _ home and demand things of me!” she whisper-shouted. “You cannot guilt trip me into letting you worm your way into his life--not when you so easily left Nymphadora behind when she needed you, and most certainly not when you should have  _ forced _ her to stay behind!” 

Remus balked, taking a few steps back. “I’m sorry, Andromeda--” he apologized. Every word she said was true. It  _ was _ his fault--and who was he to come back now and ask to be a part of Teddy’s life? He wouldn’t be in this situation if he had just put his foot down sooner, just been a little more firm and insisted that Dora stay behind… Hell,  _ he _ should’ve stayed behind to make sure she did. Remus knew it now. He was too engrossed in the future of the wider masses, the masses who didn’t even know who he was, and not concerned enough about his own future. He hadn’t thought there was one to be concerned about in the first place, and yet here he was--in a future he hadn’t foreseen and most certainly hadn’t hoped to have. 

“Get out of my house.” Andromeda’s voice had gone deadly quiet, and Remus suddenly wondered how many times he’d be kicked out of peoples’ homes. He had been thrown out three times in about as many weeks. At this point though, he knew better than to argue and made a quick retreat from the house. 

  
  
  


Beyond all reason, summer passed like the wind running wild through the Scottish highlands. Remus split his time between trying to secure another visit with Teddy, visiting Severus, and his lesson plans. There was also the odd lunch or dinner with Healer Dietrich, who had indeed upheld his end of the bargain, although a majority of their meetings were kept short, as the Healer was apparently in great demand at St. Mungo’s. Remus didn’t mind. The man’s bedside manner was impeccable, and his immaculate work spoke for itself. 

However, as summer drew to a close, so did the amount of free time he had to spend. Perhaps it was a bit selfish of him, but he enjoyed talking with Severus, and wanted to continue their visits, but Hogwarts was simply too far for him to be Apparating from on a weekly basis. The safe house was a good distance away, far enough to make Floo a better option, but Severus had stubbornly insisted on keeping the fireplace warded and closed. 

Neither of them talked about it, but Severus was also starting to run low on funds. With his Gringotts vault locked and his possessions as good as gone, there was little he had outside of the clothes on his back and a few meager belongings he could easily replace. 

The idea struck Remus when he was browsing the Prophet one day. Just under an article about the disappearance of a wizard whose name Remus had already forgotten, was an ad looking for a master potioneer. It said that a full laboratory would be provided, along with what he considered fairly decent pay. Rooms were included--and the little town was much closer to Hogwarts’ location. The small apothecary (Lin’s Apothecary and Herbal Remedies) was located just outside Edinburgh. It would be a good place to work. He said as much to Severus one sweltering August afternoon as they sat on the porch of the safe house, sipping chilled pumpkin juice (how they had ended up like that, was anyone’s guess, but Remus was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth). 

“No,” Severus ground out flatly. Over the last month, he had lost some of his unearthly pallor, and the wound had closed enough that he didn’t need to constantly be swaddled in bandages. There was a nasty scar, bulging and angry red, which Remus constantly avoided staring at. He wasn’t very good at keeping his eyes off of it. 

“The owner seems fairly reputable,” Remus continued, skimming the ad. “Some… Dean Lin fellow. Look, there’s a photo.” He held out the paper for Severus, who gave it a cursory glance. The photo gave Severus an appraising look, like he was deciding between buying him or leaving him on the shelf. 

“No.” 

“Severus…” 

“A dead man cannot possibly hope to find work,” Severus shot back, before Remus could continue. “I would have to disguise myself--which would be a tedious task in and of itself--and I am done playing roles. Perhaps I should just move deeper into the woods and fully give myself to Mother Nature.” 

By now, Remus had learned a little about Severus’s sense of humor. “I think she would be glad to welcome you, but I believe this little apothecary would too. Lin looks fairly young--maybe you taught him at school?” 

“That is precisely what I am concerned about,” Severus glowered at the paper again. “He was... I believe he was a third year when I began teaching. He would have had more than enough exposure to recognize me.” 

“Maybe we could persuade him to be quiet about it?” Remus asked, hopefully. 

“I do not want to entrust my safety to an old student whoI have not spoken to for nearly two decades, thank you.” Severus crossed his arms, indicating that he was done. Remus, however, was not. 

“Perhaps I could owl him?” he offered, not unkindly. “I could say that I have a friend looking for a job, and if he might perhaps be open to an interview?” 

“No. I will not.” Severus scowled. “Are you quite finished, Lupin? Or would you like me to point you in the direction of a brick wall? It may be gentler on your head.” 

“Or perhaps you can stop being stubborn.” Remus then decided in for a penny, in for a pound, and forged on ahead. “You will need a way to support yourself, Severus. Even if you do decide to run off into the woods, what will happen when winter comes?” He put a hand on Severus’s shoulder, feeling the other man tense but not willing to give up just yet. “Or worse--what if someone with ill intent finds you? I… I worry. I know you cannot resume teaching at Hogwarts, but I know you love potions. This is a perfect opportunity. I know you’ve been itching to brew for the last few weeks, especially since your grip had become much stronger. Brewing for a little apothecary won’t be too demanding, but it’ll give you access to a lab with quality ingredients. You can also get out a bit more. Being cooped up in here might worsen your recovery speed, especially if you’re healthy enough to walk around now.” 

Severus said nothing, and Remus knew right then that he had won. It was time to lessen the push slightly, and give Severus the reigns of the conversation again. 

“You can owl him. I don’t particularly care either way.” Severus glared at Remus and huffed. “My identity--it should be placed under the Fidelius Charm.” Remus blinked. 

“Why didn’t I think of that?” he mused. “That would be perfect, although we would need a third party for it…” 

“That Healer of yours can be the bonder,” Severus continued. “He already knows, anyway. I will be the asker, and you shall be the keeper.” 

“You… You would trust me to do that?” Remus asked, surprised. 

Severus sniffed. “As if I have any other choice,” he replied dryly. “Since I cannot possibly be my own secret keeper, you will do for now.” Remus had to laugh at his attitude. 

“I suppose I will,” he replied, good-naturedly. “Perhaps we could go in and write up a draft of the letter?” 

“Hm.” Severus made a non-committal noise and stood, sweeping into the house without another word. Remus sighed and followed.

The actual drafting of the letter was easier said than done. Severus kept interrupting, snatching the parchment from the table, and making biting comments about everything from Remus’s penmanship to his syntax. By the time they reached the third sentence, he was grinding his teeth in an effort to remain calm. 

“ _ Mr. Lin, _ ” he read through gritted teeth, “ _ I hope this letter finds you well. I found your advert regarding a need for a secondary brewer at your apothecary and believe I know the perfect candidate. He, however, is a private man and would appreciate not having his identity disclosed. If such a thing is possible, perhaps we could speak in person at your leisure-- _ ” 

“You would do well to drop the simpering tone, Lupin,” Severus remarked snidely. “A simple ‘I would like to request an interview for an acquaintance of mine, whose name shall remain undisclosed for his safety’ will do.” 

“But that would be rather rude, and we  _ do _ want you to get this job, do we not?” Remus shot back. “Besides, we need to find some way to get your credentials to them without them discovering your identity before we secure the Fidelius charm.” The Fidelius charm was a complex, mysterious piece of magic, old and almost wild in nature, similar to the Unbreakable Vow in age, potency, and construction. They both required trust and the creation of a bond between the pledger and the pledgee, which required the presence of a third wizard and the correct conditions. If done incorrectly, if there is even an inkling of doubt (or, if the charm was undertaken in circumstances where one party was unwilling or coerced), then the charm would backfire. The two charms were so similar, in fact, that they could not be taken together for the same reason. You could not use the Unbreakable Vow, for example, to force a Secret Keeper to never reveal said secret. The magic simply wouldn’t work. 

Severus scowled at the paper. “Set the time for next week instead of ‘at your leisure’. If Lin demands that we come in before we are ready, the charm may fail.” Remus sighed and tapped the parchment with his wand. A few words lifted off the page and blew into dust, before the parchment was quickly marked again with his quill. 

“ _ \--speak in person sometime next week. Sincerely, Remus Lupin _ .” Severus made a disparaging sound, and Remus glared at him. “Sometimes I think you don’t actually  _ want _ to get a job,” he muttered in an accusatory tone. “Your attitude is, at best, that of a pouty teenager.” 

“I am  _ not _ pouting, and I am certainly not happy to get a job at all. I would prefer if I could stay as far away from human contact as possible.” 

“And I suppose I don’t count as human, then?” Remus shot back, unable to keep the scathing bitterness from seeping into his voice. “Poor Remus, the werewolf, with no one else to turn to except a tetchy former school rival who everyone believes is dead. Brilliant, Severus.” 

“That is not what I meant, and you know it. Do not twist my words, Lupin.” Severus, Remus realized, was backpedaling at an astonishing speed, even though the argumentative expression on his face did not change. 

“Then what  _ did _ you mean, Severus?” Remus could feel his own frustration simmering. He just wanted to  _ help _ , and here they were, an hour later, with a letter that had been charmed clean so many times the parchment might fall apart. “That you don’t consider me like  _ other people _ ? I am so very glad for the vote of confidence.” 

Severus shot him an incredulous glare. “Contrary to what you may believe, Lupin,” he snarled, “You happen to be decent company when you aren’t working yourself into a snit, but unfortunately, you seem to have worked yourself into such a temper by this point I must admit you are being extremely unlikeable. I have offered nothing more than an appraisal based on what I, personally, would have said, and since you are speaking on my behalf, you have no right to be angry at my corrections.” 

“Me, angry!” Lupin exclaimed, beyond the point of trying to keep his voice level. “You have done nothing but criticize my writing for the last hour, when I have been trying to help  _ you _ ! You’re saying  _ I’m  _ unlikeable?! Please, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Kettle, since you apparently have more in common than a propensity for wearing black!” 

“Have you ever considered that maybe, just maybe,” Severus argued back, his expression growing stormier and stormier by the second, “I don’t  _ want  _ or  _ need _ your help! Your wearisome company is more than enough to drive a man insane. Just sit still, be quiet, and find yourself something  _ else _ useful to do. You might as well become a rock, for all I care, just stop trying to help me!” 

The explosion of temper was not unexpected--Severus had been far too calm for far too long, after all--but Remus’s pride smarted nonetheless. He didn’t know why he kept coming back. Severus, for all his acerbic wit, was a difficult man to get along with, regardless of Remus’s intentions or lack of better company. 

“So  _ I’m  _ not allowed to have feelings to hurt?” he challenged, slamming his quill into the bottle of ink with a little more force than necessary. The bottle tipped, spilling ink all over the table and the hard-won letter, but Remus was too heated to care. “There are many things people accuse you of, Severus, and I didn’t believe a single one of them, but you have certainly opened my eyes to my mistakes. I agree now--you are a coward and a hypocrite!” 

The silence that yawned before them rang in the air like a bell. Remus’s chest was heaving with sharp breaths, and Severus had gone deathly pale. 

Seconds ticked by, and neither man moved. He made a huge mistake. Remus’s mind whirled, trying to think of a way to apologize, to take back what he said, but it was truly beyond repair now, wasn’t it? He had gone one step too far. It was often said that Gryffindors lacked either tact or subtlety—often both—and he supposed they were right. He spent his life staying safely on one side of the line, so safe that when it came time to toe the line, he stepped bodily across it instead. 

“Severus, I--” 

Without a word, Severus turned and sprinted out the door. 

  
  
  


Branches and leaves whipped and lashed at Severus as he crashed through the forest, unheeding of the numerous scratches he was accumulating on his face and hands. He just needed to get away. Away from that stifling house, and that stifling man, and those stifling words. Birds chirped overhead, and sunlight streamed down through gaps in the leaves overhead, and still Severus ran on. He didn’t know where he was going--hell, he wasn’t sure what else was in the forest. He hadn’t bothered exploring until now. 

Lupin’s words pounded the inside of his skull with every step. His breaths came in sharp, painful stabs that tore at his throat and his chest. 

_ Coward _ .

_ Hypocrite _ . 

Perhaps he was, Severus thought bitterly. He had run, when he had so often accused Lupin of doing the same. He should have stood his ground, the wolf be damned, and driven him out of the house again. But this time, he couldn’t do it. The house was trapping him too--trapping him with fear of the outside world. And since when was Severus Snape afraid? 

_ Always _ , a tiny voice whispered.  _ You were always afraid.  _

So he had launched himself out instead, and found himself standing next to a small pond, his chest too small for the breaths he was trying to take and his thoughts too large for his heart to handle. After taking another few painful gulps of air, he sagged against a tall English oak tree. 

It was all just too much, far too much, for him to bear. One day he could crack under the burden, if he didn’t do something to alleviate it. Now that the fate of the wizarding world didn’t rest on his shoulders, he was free to be as selfish as he wanted to be. Right now, “selfish” meant running away somewhere far away from all the strife and misery of the wizarding world. He couldn’t go anywhere, he couldn’t hide anywhere--if he just disappeared, he couldn’t even be assured that no one would come looking for him. 

The trees and sky and chirping birds were closing in on him, and Severus sank to the ground beneath the oak tree, curling in on himself amidst the roots. He hated this. A fish in a fucking barrel. His thoughts came to him as if from very far away. Some distant version of himself was warning him to pull himself together, to stop panicking, to breathe evenly, to go back and dig up a Calming Draught (or if that failed, to find a suitable distraction until the sick feeling in his stomach went away). 

Severus was not so engrossed in having a mild panic attack that he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching him. Standing and whipping out his wand in one fluid motion, he came face to face with Lupin, who looked much worse for wear after having run pell mell through the forest after him. He supposed he didn’t look much better. At least he wasn’t crying. 

“What do you want?” he snapped, training the wand at the middle of Lupin’s chest. “Haven’t you done enough?” His voice wavered as he spoke, but held fast, for which he was incredibly thankful.    
Lupin had the audacity to look surprised as he held up his hands, which were unexpectedly empty. “I need to apologize--” 

“What for? You’ve said it yourself, and it’s true. Now that you finally learned the truth, can’t you leave me alone? I’m not a good man, Lupin, as much as you and Albus liked to delude yourselves to the contrary. I don’t need help, I don’t need pity, and I most certainly do not need to be saved.” 

“You’re not  _ perfect _ , Severus, but you are good. There’s a difference,” Lupin replied, extending a hand as if to pat his shoulder. Severus retreated a safe distance away, his wand still aimed at Lupin’s chest. “I--I didn’t--I was angry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things--and no one should ever be expected to be brave all the time. You can’t. No one can. It’s a miracle you survived until now, because you spent so long being brave. You were in more danger, did greater deeds than any of us were.”    
Severus laughed, a half hysterical sound. “I had nothing to lose,” he whispered. “Nothing left to lose.” 

“You had nothing to gain either,” Lupin reminded him, his voice gentle, like Severus was some kind of injured wild animal. He hated that tone. He hated it with a passion that burned somewhere in his gut, the part of him that hurt him and wanted to hurt others. “You could have stood aside and let the war happen, but you didn’t. Your job was thankless, and Albus… Albus wasn’t perfect either. No one is. I’m not expecting you to be, nor do I think you are. I just want you to… I want you to treat yourself like you are worth living for.” 

Anguish, raw and uncontrolled, tore through Severus’s chest. He could feel it squirming its way around his insides like a parasitic worm, eating away at his tenuous control over his feelings. He had been getting  _ better _ , he had been getting used to Lupin’s steady presence, and, as he backed up against the oak tree, he realized he had even enjoyed it at some point. 

“You… Can’t possibly--” His voice broke. It had already been worn ragged by the arguing, then strained even worse by his mad dash through the forest, and now it failed him when he needed to communicate the most.  _ Lupin couldn’t possibly be serious about him being  _ worthy _ to live. _

Lupin edged closer, and this time, Severus didn’t move when a hand slowly settled on his arm, guiding his wand inch by inch down to his side. “I know you need time to heal, Severus,” he whispered. A light breeze picked up, wafting up the mossy green scent of pond water. “We… I think we both do.” The leaves above them shifted, dazzling Severus’s eyes with light and shadow, and if anyone commented on the sudden wetness that slid down his cheeks, he would claim they were caused by the sunlight flashing in his face. “We can heal together.” 

They stood in the shadow of that tall oak tree, letting dappled shadows dance across their skin. Here, it turned a lock of hair to gold. There, a downturned lash to spun silk. Even the birds had fallen silent. There was nothing but the rustling of the leaves. 

Neither of them dared move. If they did, the trance might break, and they may find themselves at war again, but right now, right here, everything was right, and peaceful, and so, so green. 

  
  
  


The sun was low in the sky when Severus finally snapped out of his trance. He had been standing there with Lupin for who knows how long, and out in the open too. Yet he had felt so incredibly safe, safer than he had in years. 

“Severus?” Lupin asked softly, when he felt Severus stir. Realizing that he was still holding onto the other man’s arm, he withdrew, albeit reluctantly. “Would you like to go back now?” 

“I suppose so,” Severus replied, his voice equally quiet and scratching slightly in his throat. 

“Alright.” As he turned away, Severus’s hands shot out as if of their own accord, and grabbed Lupin by the arms, pulling him close so Severus’s nose was pressed against the back of his head. “Severus?” Lupin sounded surprised, and perhaps a touch apprehensive. 

“I… I also…  _ Apologize _ ,” he ground out, through tightly clenched teeth. “I believe that my… Current--past--behavior was uncalled for and disrespectful.” It was hard. All of this was hard. The words stuck like molasses to his tongue, refusing to be spat out and gumming up the rest of the words that wanted to come out. 

“I accept your apology.” Severus knew Remus-- _ Lupin _ \--was smiling even if he couldn’t see his face. Instead, he breathed deeply and immediately regretted it. Beneath the sun-kissed smell of the forest they were standing in, Remus smelled like a living room that may have belonged to someone’s grandmother: all dust and leather and ashy fireplaces, with a comfortable rocking chair and a book left dog-eared under a cup of cooling tea, or perhaps a half-knitted sweater lying near a comforter. He smelled musty in a lived-in, secondhand sort of way. And perhaps part of it was his clothing, but another part of it was that Remus was comfortable. Comfortably familiar.

He stood like that for a moment longer, unwilling to break the spell that their closeness casted over him. Suddenly, he was aware of their heartbeats, slightly off-rhythm from one another, and how their breaths were slowly synchronizing the longer he stayed there. Normally he would be frightened--he was so, so close to somebody, closer than he had been in years. But like this… Without those sad, faded eyes trained on him, without the judgemental downward curl of his lips or the drooping, defeated eyebrows, he could face Remus Lupin. He could stand here forever, but the sun was still setting, and the sky was slowly being stained in resplendent pinks and oranges.    
No words passed between them, but Remus seemed to understand what Severus needed anyway. Or, perhaps, he needed it too. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, Remus turned, and Severus loosened his grip to allow him. Still, though, he didn’t look up, keeping his face hidden first by his hair, then in the crook of Remus’s neck. He could feel the ticklish pricking of hair against his face. Remus must not have gotten around to a haircut yet, so his hair was beginning to curl around the nape of his neck and the top of his shoulders. 

They stayed there until the sun was almost fully set and Severus’s legs were hurting from standing for so long. 

“It’s getting late,” Remus murmured, drawing away with a strange reluctance that Severus didn’t want to read too deeply into. 

“Stay for dinner,” Severus commanded, his voice wavering. Not from emotional duress--he was exhausted, pure and simple, and his throat was too. 

“Perhaps I could make something,” Remus mused, collecting himself and fixing Severus with his faded eyes. In the half light, they looked dark, almost as black as Severus’s own.    
“Hm. Raid the pantry for all I care.” He took a fortifying breath and strode purposefully in the direction he assumed the cottage was in. 

“I think the cottage is that way, actually,” Remus piped up timidly, pointing in the exact opposite direction Severus was headed. 

“No. It’s  _ this _ way.” Severus’s eyebrows furrowed and he turned to glare at Remus. 

“I could’ve sworn… See, there are broken branches that way.” 

“Anything could have broken those branches, Lupin, or have you forgotten that animals happen to reside in forests?” 

“I’m just saying--” 

“Are we wizards, or not?” Severus asked exasperatedly. He fished around in his robes for his wand.

“Well I suppose--but I ran out of the house without my wand,” Remus admitted sheepishly. “You’ll have to Side-Along me.” 

Severus returned a non committal grunt and dug into his other pocket. 

“It’s not too late to start walking, I hope,” the werewolf continued, striding a bit closer to Severus. “Er… Are you alright?” 

“ _ Fine _ ,” Severus gritted out, checking his sleeves now in a fit of desperation for his wand, letting out a litany of colorful swear words. With a growl of frustration, he dropped to his knees and began sifting through the grass where they were just standing. He  _ just _ had his wand. It was  _ in his hand _ . He must have dropped it at some point during the--their moment. He spat out several more curse words. 

Remus raised an eyebrow. “You’re lucky no one else was around to hear that,” he commented solemnly. “They’d have you in for blasphemy. But I do commend you for creativity. I don’t think anyone has cursed Merlin’s gangrenous big toe yet.” 

“Wizards don’t believe in fucking blasphemy,” Severus hissed, finally giving up on his fruitless search. “I… I must have dropped it when you grabbed me.” Wisely, Lupin did not correct him on his (rather inaccurate) recollection of what had just occurred between them. He scowled at his empty hands, then stood and held one out, as if reaching for an invisible jar on an invisible shelf. “ _ Accio wand _ !” Nothing happened. Of  _ fucking _ course. Typical. Just to make a bad day worse, he was stuck here with  _ Lupin _ . “ _ Accio. Wand. _ ” He tried emphasizing the words, he tried facing in multiple directions, he channeled as much magic as he dared, but the only results of his efforts was a further exhaustion of his throat and magical reserves. 

“I think we should just pick a direction and walk back,” Remus suggested, after letting Severus try for a little while longer. “It’s starting to get too dark for my liking.” 

“I don’t suppose you have any idea  _ which _ direction to walk in,” Severus replied bitingly. “Now would be a wonderful time for you to miraculously discover a hitherto unknown power that allows you to either teleport us home or find the way.” 

“I mean…” Remus seemed to seriously debate the idea for a moment. “I suppose I could try and see if I could scent my way home… The moon is waxing, and will be full next week, so my senses are a bit more… Enhanced.” 

“Brilliant.” Severus rolled his eyes. “Please inform me when you have located the remains of your brain matter as well, seeing as it must have fallen out at some point in the last few hours.” He felt significantly less unbalanced now, however. The regular pattern of banter--Severus snarling out a few biting insults, Remus ignoring them, rinse, repeat--was helping him regain his footing. Instead of standing around like an idiot, he began investigating the ground. Perhaps if he could find a footprint and see which direction it came from, they could find their way to the cottage. He was fairly sure he had run in a straight direction from the cottage, although in his rush, he hadn’t exactly been keeping track. 

  
  
  


Remus watched for a moment as Severus wandered at the edges of the little clearing around the pond before returning to his thoughts. While they stood together, he had gotten a good idea of what kinds of scents he was looking for. Of course, he could try to find his own, but it would be easy to confuse for, well, himself. Instead, he focused on someone else. Severus smelled earthy and musty—like wet clay and old books—and not altogether unpleasant. Beneath the earthy smell, he was a mix of something faintly metallic and something that might have been fresh and green at some point, but had been plucked from the earth and was now tied in a bundle at the back of the cupboards. For some reason, Remus thought that all in all, Severus smelled rather like an abandoned apothecary. There was, of course, a distinctive oily quality that came from his hair that would never be lost, but Remus found he didn’t care either way. It was all part of who the man was. A mess of contradictions that shouldn’t go together quite as well as it does. The thought didn’t disconcert him as much as it might have a few weeks ago, much to his surprise. He shook his head. Focus on tracking. He hated having to use his curse like this--Greyback, along with the more feral packs, often allowed their wolves to simmer closer to the surface. All the better to access the heightened senses of the wolf, Remus supposed. It was always something he had an easier time with than he was comfortable. His own wolf had been repressed and pushed back so much that it was constantly howling to be freed, and if he gave it even an inch, it would try to take a mile. It was a little like squats--squats were easy to do a lot of if you did it quickly, but if you went slowly, one inch at a time, they were near impossible. 

At the moment, he was struggling to stay fixated on Severus’s trail. He had, indeed, picked up a bit of scent near the broken branches--ha!--but it was hard to stay attuned to it, because the wolf… The wolf wanted to go haring off after the many squirrels and rabbits that inhabited the forest. So many tasty snacks, so close by. He  _ was _ hungry, admittedly, because they had been out all afternoon and well into the evening, and summer evenings came late, even the ones in August.

“Well?” A voice demanding voice shook him out of his thoughts, and Remus straightened, blinking spots out of his vision as he stood too quickly. 

“I believe I have a reasonable idea of the path you took getting here,” he reported. “But it’s faint. We’ve been here all afternoon, and… Well, it’s not so close to the moon yet that my senses match that of wolves.” 

“Figures,” Severus grumbled, mostly to himself, but Remus picked up on it anyway. 

“Did  _ you _ find anything?” he asked, a little peevishly. 

“No. It’s too bloody dark,” Severus shot back. Remus blinked. He hadn’t noticed. Everything seemed just a bit… Greyer than usual to him. 

“Oh. I suppose we had best go this way, then, since it’s the only lead we have.” Remus pushed his way through the foliage and held a branch to the side for Severus. He didn’t miss the suspicious sideways glance that raked over him as the other man brushed by, and he certainly didn’t miss the whiff of clay and herbs that followed. It would be difficult. 

The sun had fully set by the time Remus was forced to admit that having Severus nearby was throwing off the scent. He was having enough trouble as is, staying focused, but having Severus nearby to distract not only verbally but also nonverbally was very taxing. But he couldn’t very well leave him behind. That was just inviting disaster.

“I think I recognize this boulder,” Severus suddenly announced. Remus perked up instantly. 

“Are we getting close then?” he asked, hopefully. 

“No.” Severus shot him a sour glare. “It looks familiar because we’ve passed it four times now.” Remus deflated. 

“Fuck…” he groaned, running a hand through his hair. “ _ Fuck _ .” 

“Now who’s the one that will be hauled in for blasphemy, hm?” 

“Please, Severus… Not now.” He rubbed the tips of his fingers against his temples, trying to force a bit more coherent thought out of himself. Now that night had officially fallen, he was getting antsy, and he knew Severus was too. Neither of them liked being out here in the open, vulnerable and wandless. He blamed himself. He should’ve grabbed his wand before pelting out of the house after Severus. He shouldn’t have ever taken it off of himself in the first place--blast it all, he had felt  _ safe _ enough at the cottage to not need his wand with him at all times. It was just lying on the table! Why hadn’t he thought to grab it? It should’ve been instinctive, but it wasn’t. The first thing on his mind was to apologize to Severus, to find a way to wipe that pain from his face. 

“Then what plan will the amazing, brilliant mind of Remus Lupin cook up next? Perhaps you could catch us a rabbit, so we at least won’t starve to death.” 

“ _ Severus _ .” 

“Don’t ‘Severus’ me.” 

Remus fell silent. There was no need to have an argument now, he reminded himself, turning away from the aggravating git standing next to him. Merlin, maybe he was watching this with rose tinted glasses. Perhaps he was being too sentimental. Severus was difficult to get along with, prickly and distrusting. It required true dedication, and… Severus had trusted him to have that dedication. That must be it, he realized. Severus had tried so many times to drive him away--not even the worst that Severus could think of had succeeded, and he was not about to let this latest trial ruin all his past victories. It was tempting to just stop, yes, but since when had resisting temptation been easy? Resistance is not a single act. It is an ongoing choice, a state of being. Giving up, now that,  _ that _ was a single act. That’s why it was so easy to just cave beneath the pressure. If there was anyone in the world more painfully intimate with the idea of never-ending resistance and caving under pressure than Remus himself, he’d be genuinely surprised. 

While he thought, Severus had forged on ahead. If it were not for the sound of leaves crunching under his feet or the crackle of bending branches, Remus might have lost him. Severus was thin and wearing all black. He easily blended in among the shifting shadows of the trees around them. 

“Severus, wait! Let’s not get separated,” Remus pushed through the undergrowth after him. “Stop being stubborn! You’re just going to cover up the scents even worse, and we won’t make it home until dawn.” They couldn’t just  _ sleep _ out here. Remus was getting too old for that, and he had a feeling Severus wouldn’t willingly suffer it either. Besides, he was still recovering--Remus didn’t miss the way Severus’s hands trembled after spending too much energy or the way his voice would be rougher and scratchier by the end of the day. This wasn’t going to be easy on either of them, and with the moon so close… Well. He just didn’t want to have to spend the night out, and storming off like this was not helping. 

Severus stopped suddenly, and Remus nearly crashed into him from behind. The only thing that saved both of them from an undignified tumble onto the ground was Remus’s reactions, which were still good enough.    
“What--?” he asked, a hint of grouchiness creeping into his voice. 

“Stop. I think I recognize this path,” Severus announced. He was standing on a small animal trail, faint but still apparent in the woods. “It should lead us close to the garden behind the cottage.” 

“Thank Merlin,” Remus breathed, too relieved to question it. “Which way?” 

“That way.” Severus peered down the path. Remus’s eyes followed his gaze into the murky darkness, then turned and looked in the opposite direction. Either way looked equally likely to him. They were so far off of Severus’s original scent trail from the afternoon that there was no way Remus could track their way back anyway. 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he shrugged. “Lead on.” 

Severus gave him an odd look and shook his head, his lank hair whipping along with his head. Remus was tempted to pick out the twig that had managed to get snarled in it. “Don’t lag behind. I will not hesitate to leave you here to fend for yourself,” he commanded peevishly. 

“Of course.” Remus was too tired to argue or banter. Surprisingly, Severus didn’t seem to be in the mood to comment either, because he just gave Remus another long, searching look, before he set off down the path.

The waxing moon was high in the sky by the time they stumbled, bedraggled and exhausted, into the ‘backyard’ of the cottage. It was really just a small clearing, with an overgrown herb garden populated primarily by weeds. 

“We made it!” Remus breathed out a sigh of relief. “I was beginning to lose hope.” 

Severus made a non committal noise and wordlessly walked to the back door, jerking it open with a grimace. Remus hung back, even as Severus paused, turned, and glared at him. 

“Well?” he demanded. “Are you coming in?” 

Remus blinked. “Oh--I was just going to get my wand and Apparate home, since it’s rather too late for dinner now, and I wouldn’t want to impose—” 

“Have you gone barmy, Lupin?” Severus rolled his eyes and shoved at the door to keep it open. “You aren’t Apparating anywhere. I need you to help me find my wand in the morning. Get inside. There’s a guest bedroom. I hope you can find your own way around.” The door slammed behind Severus, but didn’t lock. Remus blinked again, confused. Severus was inviting him to stay the night? That was unexpected, to say the least. At this point, however, it would be rude to refuse, especially because Severus still needed his help. He would need to help find Severus’s wand tomorrow, especially since he still had his own. He opened the door much more gently than Severus did and went inside to get settled for the night. 

Of course, this time, he remembered to snatch his wand off of the kitchen table first. The house soon fell silent, as Remus crept to the guest bedroom and passed out on the bed before he could do much more than toe his shoes off. 


	8. Secrets Untold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus finally starts to open up. Remus is bad at flirting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took.... so much longer than it needed to, holy shit. I just haven’t been able to write much since NaNoWriMo (thankk burnout!! Love you too!!!!) but I cranked out the last couple hundred words of this chapter at 3 am. I take responsibility for any bad decisions or ooc choices they make. Apologies in advance. 
> 
> Also, the reappearance of Healer Dietrich! I adore him. Maybe we’ll see Auror Lambert soon too? Eventually I’ll make a spin-off of just Alois and René, but that’s a big project and I’m not ready for that yet, at least not until I finish a few of my existing 28389393939933 wips. 
> 
> Also this chapter is totally not beta read bc I wanted to post it ASAP, sooooo mistakes are mine and I apologize in advance.

“Lupin.  _ Lupin _ . Wake  _ up _ you great lump.”

Remus groaned and cracked his eyes open a tiny bit. The room was still grey with early morning sun, which did no favors in highlighting every single edge on Severus’s face. He looked rather like a giant had carved eyes and a nose out of a particularly craggy mountain. 

“‘S too early…” he mumbled, turning over and pulling his blankets over his head. 

“We are going. To find. My wand,” Severus grit out, all but dragging Remus out of bed. 

“Can’t we wait ‘til it’s bright out?” Remus complained. Usually, he was fairly even tempered in the mornings, but being woken up so brusquely was not conducive to a good mood. 

“No. I want my wand,” Severus replied haughtily. “Do not forget yours this time.” After giving Remus a disapproving once over, he swept out of the room. 

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Remus groaned softly to himself as he tried to psyche himself up for a day with Severus. A very well-known fact about Severus was that even though he habitually woke at 6 am sharp, he was always in a terrible mood due to not being a morning person. Why he insisted on subjecting himself (and those around him) to his caustic morning vitriol was beyond Remus’s comprehension. 

After brushing his teeth and getting dressed, Remus wandered downstairs to find that Severus was already dressed up in his black robes, buttoned all the way up his neck so only a sliver of white bandage peeked out from underneath his collar. There was a plate on the table with a slice of toast and some margarine to go with it. Remus picked it up without much thought and ate it quickly, washing everything down with a swig of tea from the cup that was already set out. There was another empty plate and cup that Severus must have eaten from. 

“Done?” Severus demanded impatiently, standing by the door and tapping his foot. “Do not forget your wand this time.” 

“I won’t, I won’t,” Remus grumbled unhappily as he rummaged in his pocket for his wand. “Do you remember which way you ran?” 

“I was a little busy,” Severus replied, turning his nose up and wrenching the door open. “Come on. Surely you are not so hopeless as to not know any tracking spells?” 

Remus sighed through his nose and murmured a short incantation, first sweeping his wand over Severus, then drawing a complicated glyph in the air with the tip of his wand. The symbol pulsed once with light and stretched, the lines wiggling in the air to form a sort of rudimentary guide. “I can trace your magical signature from you to your wand. Wizards and their wands have a distinct connection forged through magic that is difficult to break if the wand’s allegiance does not change.” 

Severus waved his hand dismissively. “Yes yes, but can you  _ find _ it?” he asked again. Remus saw that one of Severus’s fingers was tapping his arm rapidly and tried to push aside his feelings of irritation. Get a grip, he thought to himself. Of course he’s nervous--a wandless wizard is little more than a Muggle. A wandless, iinjured wizard was even worse off. 

“Yes, of course.” Remus took a steadying breath and focused on his wand, holding it out in front of him and pointing it at the woods. Tracing Severus was… Difficult. Something about him has always been slightly wild, like he had been kidnapped a swamp or bog, which did not help when quite literally everything around him was similarly wild. But in a different way. Fittingly, Severus’s magic felt a little green, but green in the way algae in a pond was green, not in the way the sun turned every green leaf into spun gold. Severus felt like frogs croaking from shadowy puddles, the rotting trunk of a long-fallen tree, the soft white of tiny mushrooms sprouting from the ground after a long night of rain. The forest was different--it was alive and vibrant, and it  _ moved _ . Everything in it moved. Severus… Severus did not. He was a constant beacon--or perhaps, a blight--in the midst of all that movement, and Remus honed his mind to that anchor, letting it drag him stumbling from the doorway onto the porch where Severus was waiting. The strongest anchor was, of course, right in front of him. Remus ignored that and focused on the other one, the one that was much weaker and much further away. Wordlessly, he chased after it, striding briskly through the forest, heedless of the branches that lashed and clawed at him. Vaguely, he could feel Severus following, the only betrayal of his movement being the rustle of his robes against the foliage. 

It wasn’t long until they were back in the clearing, the sun just barely skimming the tops of the trees. Remus blinked, and the connection was gone. The world--which had been teeming with magic moments ago--fell dull and colorless on Remus’s senses once again. Severus gave him a meaningful look from the corner of his eye, and he raised his wand. 

“ _ Accio Severus Snape’s wand _ ,” he commanded, pointing his wand at the clearing and raising one hand in preparation to catch the wand. There was a quiet rustle, and a black blur shot out of the ground and into his waiting hand. It stayed for only a fraction of a second before Severus snatched it from his fingers and clutched it to him. If Remus didn’t know how much magic meant to Severus, he’d think the scene quite comedic. 

“Can we go back now?” he asked somewhat plaintively. “I want to sleep for another few hours…” 

“You’re already awake,” Severus sniffed, walking stiffly back into the forest. Remus followed, hurrying to catch up. “Studies have shown that returning to sleep after waking will disrupt your body’s perception of time.” 

“I didn’t think you cared, Severus,” Remus replied dryly, although perhaps he made his tone slightly too dry, because Severus shot him a rather scandalized look. 

“I do not. I am simply pointing out a fact,” he replied with great hauteur before stalking off through the woods, nipping off any further conversation in the bud. Remus sighed again--he found a significant uptick in his sighing that correlated directly with an increase in time spent with Severus. Not that he was annoyed--certainly not--but it was frustrating to be around him. He liked it well enough, because Severus provided good conversation and was at least tolerant of his presence, but… He really wished that Severus did not ooze out of every pore the energy of a man who had given up trying to interact with the world and all of its inhabitants. 

The trip back to the house was not particularly eventful. Severus made a few snippy remarks about Remus’s slow walking, Remus shot back with a few jabs at Severus waking him up at the crack of dawn, and both of them had settled into a brooding silence by the time they returned to the house. 

“Well,” Remus announced somewhat icily. “If you don’t need anything else, I need to return home. Start of term is just around the corner, and there are textbook lists to oversee.” 

Severus gave him a brusque nod and shut the door in his face. On a scale of annoyed to hopping mad, Remus put this response at somewhere around mildly aggravated. Heaving a great sigh, he walked to the Apparition point and took a step to the right, Apparating away from the forest and back to Grimmauld Place. The crack of Apparition masked the tiny click sounding from behind a tree. 

  
  
  


Settling down at his desk, Severus stared at the letter resting in front of him. He knew Dean Lin--remembered teaching a shy 13 year old who eventually became one of the admittedly better brewers in his class--and wondered whether he should swallow his pride and work for his student after all. 

“Lupin should just sod off and mind his own damn business for once,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips. Still, he needed the money, and it would only be temporary. He remembered recommending the boy to an apothecary somewhere near Edinburgh, perhaps he had taken over the place or gone nearby. It would be a reasonably good place to work--it was a bit north of where he was currently living, and was located roughly between Hogwarts and London. He would be able to Apparate easily without risk of splinching himself to either location once his injury was healed completely. Grudgingly, he had to admit that the idea was a sound one. Practical. What had Lupin said again? Rational? Logical? Something along those lines. He rubbed his eyes a bit harder, enough to make him see spots, before slumping back on his chair. So he would write the letter. Or pretend to be Lupin, and write the letter. 

_ Dean _ ,

No, that was too familiar. 

_ To Lin _ , 

Still too familiar. Severus ground his teeth and used his wand to siphon the ink off of the parchment.

_ Lin _ ,

Better. 

_ This letter is sent with the assumption of confidentiality. I understand you are in need of an expert brewer--I am in need of temporary employment. If you can agree to my terms, we can speak in person…  _

Severus kept writing well into the night, editing the letter as necessary to keep out any unnecessary details. He needed to keep this relatively private, and a quick  _ Epistula Obscuro _ later (to encode the letter), he folded it and sealed it with a drop of wax. Waving his wand, he discreetly hid the cypher in the wax stamp. Any of his Slytherins would know it. He was the one who taught them encoding in one seminar at the beginning of his career as a teacher--he remembered that Dean was particularly interested in the mathematical ones. 

The next day, Severus stood on his porch, wondering how the hell he was supposed to send the letter. He could hardly visit the post office himself--there were no stores of Polyjuice at the safe house, and he did not trust his transfiguration skills enough to disguise himself for long periods of time. Even if he successfully changed his hair color, he had no guarantees he wouldn’t be permanently stuck as blonde or if he disfigured his face even further. Even if he didn’t particularly like the way he looked, he was still rather attached to his current appearance. 

“Excuse me, sir?” A voice sounded from somewhere off to Severus’s side, making him jump. His wand was instantly in his hand, although he kept it hidden at his side as he whirled to see the newcomer. A pair of Muggle officials stood by him, and judging by their formal suits, they looked like some kind of investigator. 

He thanked Merlin, God, whoever was listening, that Lupin was not there with him, because the last thing he needed was a wizard blundering around blindly with the Muggle authorities. Severus let a little bit of his childhood accent slip through, a rough sound that sounded like bats stuck with iron nails and bloody noses. 

“What do you want?” he demanded, barely withholding a wince at how familiar that accent sounded. 

“Do you live here, sir?” the leading investigator--a short woman with glasses and green eyes--approached him somewhat hesitantly. 

“Obviously,” Severus snarled back. “This is private property. Do you have a warrant?” 

The woman looked nervous suddenly, but steeled herself as her partner raised an eyebrow. “We just have to ask you a few questions--” 

“This isn’t your house!” the man next to her shouted. He had a heavy French accent and a 5 o’clock shadow, and Severus could instantly feel a migraine coming on. “Give it up, we can get you on--” 

“Agent, please!” the female agent pleaded, putting a hand on her partner’s arm. “Just a few minutes of your time--” 

“No,” Severus snapped, using his eyes to shoot daggers at the intruding agents. “Bugger off my property and come back with a warrant if you wanna speak with me so badly.” Then, he turned and slammed the door shut. 

Once safely inside, Severus let his wand slip the rest of the way out his sleeve as he cast a subtle surveillance charm on the two agents.    
  


“Oh really, Agent Argent?” the male agent was shouting. “You think he would’ve talked if we didn’t press him? Bah! My talent is wasted on this wild goose chase.” There was the sound of stomping, muffled by leaves. 

“I don’t really believe it either, Agent Devineaux, but we have to exhaust every lead! There were some reports of a cottage here in the woods--”

“Hearsay, Agent, hearsay! We’re better off following--” 

“Let’s just go, Agent Devineaux. Maybe the next lead will be a little more forthcoming…” Severus kept listening until the footsteps faded away entirely before he let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He hadn’t gotten a very good look at their badges, but based on their accents, they were likely Interpol. What business could Interpol possibly have that demanded they visit remote cottages in forests? For the life of him, he couldn’t figure it out. 

But that was hardly a pressing issue at the moment. He doubted they saw anything untoward--he had been careful to obscure his wand with his body, and his robes could be excused as an eccentric man’s dressing gown. Plus, there were no outward signs of anything magical outside, and even if they did cause problems, the Ministry would probably be immediately on them. Still, Severus mused, he should think about strengthening the Muggle-repelling charms around the cottage. Until now, he had thought the remote location would be enough protection, but, as evidenced by today’s encounter, it was not. 

Heaving a great sigh to himself, Severus dragged a hand down his face. Long term plans always gave him headaches. But this also meant he would eventually have to venture out of the house and set up a new life under a pseudonym. Perhaps he could even find a way to access his assets, which were no doubt confiscated by the Ministry at some point or another. Small steps. First, a job. He could worry about Gringotts and other official business later--after all, it wasn’t uncommon for wizards to live almost completely isolated lives, away from the Ministry and other officials. However, in order to get this job, he needed to send the owl. In order to send the owl, he needed to disguise himself. As much as he loathed the idea of it, there was no other choice but to mutter a few appearance altering charms in front of a mirror and hope that they would last long enough to get him to the post and back, while not being so strong as to be permanent. He would hate to be stuck with a head of stringy brown hair, buck teeth, and a doughy face. 

The bell on the door jingled merrily as Severus pushed it open, his eyes roving carefully over the conversing patrons. As much as he felt his disguise was sound, there was always the risk of meeting someone he knew. These charms did not disguise his voice or his stature, which meant his disguise would certainly not hold under scrutiny. 

  
“I would like to mail this,” he said, approaching the till with his letter. 

“Where to?” the bored-looking woman at the counter asked, tapping away on an antiquated cash register, which let out the occasional jingle. 

“On the envelope.” 

“Alright. A sickle and two knuts.” 

Severus fished the money from his pockets--it was more expensive than he thought it ought to be, but he couldn’t afford to make a scene--and handed it to the woman, who rang him up and took the letter away to strap to the leg of a waiting owl. With a short hoot, the owl flapped out of the mail office as the cashier handed Severus his receipt. 

“Thank you, come again, next!” she called, her eyes already sliding onto the next person in line, a rather overgrown boy with nervous hands and watery eyes. 

Severus quickly departed, not wanting to spend any more time than necessary outside. His steps were purposeful but restrained--he desperately wanted to sprint to the Apparition point and leave, but running would draw unnecessary attention. Walking quickly was acceptable because people tended to assume you were in a rush to get someplace important, rather than someone who was in trouble for some reason or another and ought to be paid attention to. His heartbeat was rattling around somewhere in his throat, and he could feel sweat beading on his forehead and rolling down his neck. The top of his head was starting to feel unnaturally warm, and he thought he could feel something  _ other _ than sweat dripping down his face--or rather, peeling from his face--and there were eyes on the back of his head, and a man whispered to the woman he was walking with, a teen did a double take and turned their head, and Severus disappeared with a loud crack as soon as his foot stepped over the threshold of the Apparition point. 

Cheerful sunlight filtered down through the gaps between the trees, sprinkling Severus’s head with rays of dappled gold. Birds chirped all around him as he sank to his knees in the grass, his chest heaving and his breaths coming in rasping gasps. Clutching his head in his hands, he felt his hair transform the rest of the way from brown to black. Suddenly, it lengthened and flopped around his face, finally returning his oldest refuge to him. He resisted the urge to curl himself into a ball and forced first his arms, then his legs, to unlock and stumble back to the safe darkness of the cottage.

The forest passed in a blur around him as he crashed through it, only stopping when the door was doubly locked and all the curtains were drawn. It was only then that the gaze burning into his back finally disappeared. No one was watching now. He was inside. He was safe. He all but tumbled onto the couch, throwing one arm over his eyes as he drew a long, deep breath and let it out. Then another. And another. He was inside. He was safe. 

  
  
  


Dean Lin was in the middle of a sale when the owl soared through his open window and settled on the edge of an unused cauldron. 

“Oh--sorry, just a second,” he apologized to his client, quickly going to the owl and giving it an affectionate pat on the head before untying the letter from its leg. “Thanks. You can go now.” The owl hooted and gave him a baleful look. “What? Okay, okay, fine. Just one.” He reached into a cabinet, fished out a treat, and fed it to the owl, who hooted and winged out the window again. 

“Now let’s see, where were we… You were talking about an order of document restoration potions?” 

Later that night, Dean sat down at his desk to read the letter, which, upon closer inspection, he noticed was sealed in a way he didn’t think he would ever see again. Inside, the letter looked like a recipe for chicken noodle soup, but as he murmured  _ Epistula Revelio _ over the page, the ink slid and slithered over the parchment until it read the actual letter, scrawled in familiar spiky handwriting that he never thought he’d see again. 

_ Lin,  _

_ This letter is sent with the assumption of confidentiality. I understand you are in need of an expert brewer--I am in need of temporary employment. If you can agree to my terms, we can speak in person and come to terms that are amenable for the both of us.  _

_ Before we talk, I have a few stipulations. One, I will not interact with the clientele in person, for obvious reasons. Two, I will be provided time and facilities to brew. Three, we will be performing a Fidelius Charm to ensure my identity remains a secret.  _

_ Believe me when I say that if I were not in need of this job, you would not have received this letter. Return my message in kind by owl.  _

_ SS  _

Dean blinked and reread the page. Aside from the obvious fact that this letter had come from a dead man, this must be some kind of trick, right? Of all people--but then again, he did need a brewer and if he was correct on who this was… He would have to be completely daft to turn down his old professor. There was nothing particularly unreasonable about his demands, and of course he would be perfectly amenable to keeping the secret. It would not benefit him in any way to be blabbing about Snape--in fact, it was more beneficial to keep Snape’s identity a secret. Having a mystery brewer with nearly unparalleled skill was a competitive edge, and small businesses took every edge they could get. Besides, Dean was a Slytherin, and Slytherins have never been the type to play completely by the books. Barely believing his good luck, Dean immediately summoned his quill and a piece of parchment, scrawling a quick return note. He could process the idea of Snape being alive at a later date. 

_ 10 o’clock, this Sunday. Store is quietest around this time. Come with your Secret Keeper. My owl will wait for a reply.  _

Waving his wand over the parchment, he cast another message obscuring charm and tied the letter to the leg of his own owl. 

“Wait for him to write something back, okay Misty?” he murmured to the owl, who nipped his fingers affectionately before lifting off and flying out through an open window. With a satisfied sigh, Dean sat back down in his chair and pulled a stack of other parchment towards him. Now that he had a second brewer, he needed to do inventory. 

  
  
  


Severus had just finished dinner when he heard a tap on the window. Carefully pulling aside the curtains, he saw an owl perched on the windowsill, its golden eyes watching him impatiently and a letter strapped to its leg. Quickly, Severus opened the window and brought the owl inside before shutting it tightly. 

The owl hooted at him and extended a leg imperiously. Severus pulled the parchment off and muttered a spell to reveal the letter’s contents. Moments later, a breath left him in a sudden rush of relief. He was half expecting the Ministry to be knocking on his door--not a letter. And certainly not a letter accepting his terms. 

_ Sunday is agreeable. I will arrive at 11.  _

  
  


The next morning, Severus woke and realized he needed, somehow, to contact Remus. He couldn’t face going out in public again, not after what happened last time, and dreaded having to do so again for another letter. The only alternative was to send a Patronus, but there was no guarantee that Remus would be alone when he sent it. Although few people would be able to recognize his Patronus, his voice would be unmistakable, even if it was rusty and hoarse from his wound. Obviously, he couldn’t Apparate directly into 13 Grimmauld Place, which was where Remus’s letter was addressed from. Regardless of which path he chose, he was risking discovery. The Patronus was probably the least risky of them all. Perhaps he would simply wait until late at night. It was only Wednesday—there was still time. He’d find something else to fill the empty space in his schedule, as he had been for the last few months. 

Unfortunately, the day crawled by. Severus scrounged around for easy meals to cook, flipped through Potions journals that he could practically recite from memory, and contemplated whether or not he hated himself enough to pick up the dreary-looking romance that was tucked at the very back of one of the bookshelves. He even dared to open the window a crack, so he could see the progress of the sun outside. The single ray of light cut through the darkness of the house like a knife, and he found himself pushing the curtains aside even further so the blade became a beam, and he was able to edge an armchair into it so he could watch the clock tick forward while basking in the summer sunlight. 

When the sun finally set over the treetops, Severus woke with a start as the room fell into darkness. He didn’t realize he had fallen asleep. His stomach protested weakly when he rose. Dozing in the sun was something he never had the luxury to do, and unfortunately, indulging in it meant that he had a terrible crick in his neck and nothing prepared for dinner. 

Half a loaf of stale bread and a bruised apple later, Severus sat back down in the armchair and lit the lamps in the living room with a flick of his wand. Almost as an afterthought, he flicked his wand again and closed the curtains fully. Then, he hesitated. What would he say? Should he send a message at all? He must, if he wanted this job. But did he? Did he  _ really _ want this job badly enough? Severus rubbed his brow with the tips of his fingers. The thoughts pacing in circles around his head did nothing to help the aching pains that he was already doing his best to ignore. 

The clock chimed. Severus jumped. Then, he winced and let out a thin hiss of pain as the movement jostled his neck. His wound was still tender, and sleeping in the wrong position did nothing to help. Viciously massaging his neck with one hand, he stood and walked to the center of the room. He closed his eyes, letting his memories slowly drift to the surface. 

_ Sunlight bathing a rickety swing, a girl with flashing red hair and brilliant green eyes, and a kind, kind smile.  _

_ Their secret garden, their hidden paradise, where only they could sit and lay about in the sun. There was no one else in the world. There was just them. And time stood still.  _

Severus honed in on the contentment and chanted the incantation softly. “ _ Expecto Patronum _ .” A silver doe burst forth from the tip of his wand and cantered around the living room. Biting back the instinctive swell of emotions that poured forth every time he summoned his Patronus, Severus delivered its instructions. “Find Remus Lupin,” he commanded, his voice quiet and silken. “Tell him this: ‘Lin has agreed to see us Sunday at 11 am. Inform the healer. We prepare the spell on Saturday.’” The doe flicked an ear at him before bounding off through the ceiling. With a deep sigh, Severus sank back down onto the couch and put an arm over his face. Was the Patronus charm always so draining? He couldn’t remember. But he did remember the pain in his neck, and with a tired groan, he dragged himself to bed. 

  
  
  


Remus had finally curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace reading a book when he saw a flash of silver in the corner of his eye. Jumping up in alarm, he had his wand trained on the light before he registered that it was a Patronus. A doe. He stared at it, uncomprehending, until he heard Severus’s voice issue from it. His Patronus was a  _ doe _ . 

“Lin has agreed to see us…” the doe recited, tilting her head curiously at him as Severus’s voice continued. Remus nearly missed the message, but he realized in time to scramble for a piece of parchment to scribble down the instructions. He would have to owl Healer Dietrich tonight--why did Severus have to give them so little time? There was never a guarantee that the Healer would have space in his schedule, and there was certainly no guarantee that he would be available on such short notice. Still, it was worth asking. He had to. No matter if Severus seemed to expect the world to just work around him--or he didn’t, and purposefully set the world up to fail to meet his standards. Either way, he resolved to at least try. The doe gave him one last long look before disappearing, vanishing into the air in a swirl of silver and white. 

Sitting down at his desk, Remus composed a letter to Healer Dietrich, apologizing for the late notice and suggesting a time for them all to meet. He also addressed a letter to Severus, informing him that he had received the Patronus message and that he should probably consider investing in an owl. Whether or not this statement will actually be taken to heart, Remus didn’t know. At least he himself had done the very same, especially since he actually had people to send letters to and it was rather inconvenient to be relying on others for communication. His owl was a Tawny, with glowing eyes and a penchant for trying to steal his bangers during lunch. 

“Deliver this to Healer Dietrich first, hm?” he asked, tying the letter to the owl’s leg as it nibbled a leftover sausage. “Come back quick, because there are a lot of letters for you to deliver tonight, and they’re all quite urgent.” The owl hooted and butted Remus’s hand with its head before taking off into the darkened sky. 

It didn’t take long after that for the meeting to be arranged. Thankfully, Healer Dietrich would be available around noon that Saturday (“Although you will owe me a spot of lunch!” the Healer wrote in his pithy response), which Severus agreed to with minimal huffing and puffing. Remus took this as a good sign. 

When Remus arrived at the Apparation point at noon, Healer Dietrich was already there, waiting for him. 

“Remus!” he smiled, reaching out to give Remus a hug. “Good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Alois,” Remus replied, his own face also splitting instinctively into a wide grin. “Let’s get going.” He led the way down the wooded path towards the cottage. 

“Based on your letters,” Healer Dietrich began as they walked, “You mentioned you needed a bonder, yes? Since Severus is the asker, you are the keeper—and you require a third to preside over the bonding.” 

“Yes,” Remus nodded. “It’s to keep Severus safe for when he begins work. All we need is a way to inform his employer of his existence, while qpreventing others from finding out.” He sighed. “I do think it’s a bit paranoid. I doubt Mr. Lin would risk losing a competitive edge. Plus, he was one of the wizards who weren’t involved in the war, and doesn’t have a good reason to turn Severus in.” 

“Of course, but Severus is paranoid and has always been, yes?” Healer Dietrich waved his hand. “He is understandably worried about his own safety. I know you are too. Trust me, I know a thing or two about putting up with a loved one that has issues with trusting others. Having this sort of insurance will certainly ease Severus’s mind.”

“You’re right,” Remus nodded, deciding to ignore, for now, the fact that Healer Dietrich seemed to think that he and Severus were closer than they actually are. “I suppose that would be for the best.” By then, the two had reached the house. The door opened a crack before either of them had the chance to knock. Remus could see a sliver of Severus’s sallow face peering suspiciously out from the darkness within the house. A smile spread across his face. 

“Good afternoon!” he greeted, waving at Severus, who disappeared behind the door, which swung slowly open to allow them in. “Before you ask, your favorite snack from Honeydukes used to be peppermint hoppers.” The door slammed open rather insistently. Remus and Healer Dietrich shared a chuckle before stepping inside. “Are you not going to confirm your identity to me?” Remus asked, half teasingly. 

“If someone has replaced me in this cottage, you surely would know,” Severus sniffed, stepping out from where he had been hiding in the shadows. The door swung closed with a flick of his wrist. “Dietrich.” He offered Healer Dietrich a curt nod. 

“Mr. Snape,” Healer Dietrich responded in kind. “I don’t have much time today, so perhaps we should skip straight to the ritual. I take it both of you understand how to perform it?”

Both Severus and Remus nodded. “Come to the living room,” Severus ordered, jabbing a finger in the direction of the living room. “More space.” 

The three men filed into the living room, Severus and Remus sitting down on the couch while Healer Dietrich stood before them. Silence fell. Severus wasn’t quite sure where to start, and it seemed like nobody else did either. 

Eventually, Healer Dietrich broke the silence. “I will start the incantation. Simply speak the words when you’re ready, Mr. Snape.” Raising his wand, Healer Dietrich began the spell, using his wand to trace a complex glyph in the air, purple light trailing from the tip of his wand. Severus turned to Remus, who looked back at him, the spell glittering like fireflies in his eyes. 

“My secret is my identity, and all information regarding my current existence,” he began. “ Will you, keeper, swear upon your life to keep this secret? ” 

Remus’s gaze was steady as he replied, “Yes. I will.” 

“ Will you forfeit your life should it ever leave you?” Severus continued. 

“Yes. I will.” 

“Do you take this oath freely and will you keep it until your last breath?” Part of Severus wondered if Remus would back out. A commitment to a man involved in some of his worst memories--to put his faith in a man who has somehow not proven himself to be a worthless sack of mincemeat after all--the reality of the situation was sinking in, and his body stiffened minutely, torn between duty and fear. Escape now, or forever be bound. It seemed that Remus had no such qualms, because before Severus could decide that this was a bad idea after all, he finished the oath. 

“Yes. I do.” A spark, like a falling star, shot out of Healer Dietrich’s wand, illuminating the room in a bright white light, cold and all-seeing. Severus, in that brief moment, felt like his very soul--every last, blackened piece of it--was being laid bare. To his credit, Remus didn’t flinch, instead extending an unwavering hand to seal the spell. Severus’s own hand trembled as he grasped Remus’s hand. The spark danced around them, the twinkling tail of the star weaving a glowing net over their dark forms, before finally encasing their clasped hands and binding them with a final, blinding flash. 

When Severus opened his eyes, he saw Healer Dietrich and Remus both watching him worriedly. “What?” he snapped, quickly withdrawing his hand and crossing his arms. 

“Nothing,” Remus quickly replied, shaking his head. “Well… The deed is done. I believe we should be free to visit the apothecary on Sunday, as planned. Thank you, Alois,” he smiled at Healer Dietrich, who responded with a kindly grin of his own. 

“Anything for a good friend,” he nodded, before glancing at his watch. “I should get going. My break will be over soon, and I still have another errand to run.” 

“Sorry to keep you here,” Remus said, standing quickly to show the healer out. Severus watched as the pair left the living room of the cottage, his fingers twitching against the wand hidden in his sleeve. As soon as Remus returned, Severus’s eyes snapped to him. 

“I think that went well,” Remus commented cheerfully as he sat down. “I was thinking we could put together some plans for your work schedule while I’m here.”

“Do you think me so incompetent that I can’t manage my own time?” Severus snapped peevishly. 

Remus blinked and quickly raised his hands in a pacifying motion. “No-no of course not! I personally prefer to have a sounding board for my ideas, and was offering to be yours…”

“Well I don’t.” Severus crossed his arms and slouched in place, his eyes never leaving Remus’s face. Remus sighed. 

“Alright—What about lunch, then?” 

Severus rolled his eyes. “I think I will pass on your endless litany of sandwiches, thank you.” 

“I  _ can _ make other things you know,” Remus protested. 

“Pasta?” Severus asked, raising an eyebrow.

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with pasta.” 

“There is absolutely everything wrong with pasta if that is the only thing you can make that isn’t a sandwich or scrambled eggs.”

“Well I  _ never.  _ Severus Snape, are you questioning my cooking ability?” Remus gave a mock moue of offense. “I am perfectly capable at basic household chores such as cooking lunch—in fact, it is one of my main selling points!”

“Yes, because the other ones are your charming wit and good looks,” Severus replied, with the intent of sarcasm, which Remus chose to ignore. Unless, of course, it really did fly right over the idiot's head, in which case Severus took absolutely zero responsibility for the consequences. 

“You would be surprised,” Remus replied, grinning widely. “They say I am quite talented in not just the kitchen, but in rooms all over the house.” 

It was like watching a train hurtle off of a burning bridge—Severus could neither stop it nor look away. “Oh? And would that, perhaps, be in your bedroom, where you laze about all day reading books?”

Remus was sitting close to him. Somehow, he never noticed that. And somehow, he never noticed that Remus was warm—so warm that he could feel the heat coming off of him—or perhaps that was just him and his imagination. “There are other things to do in a bedroom, Severus.”

His blood ran cold, very suddenly, and Severus immediately recoiled. Remus jumped back as well, his eyes lit with surprise. 

“I’m—I’m very sorry, I don’t know where—“

Severus interrupted him by standing, turning abruptly on his heel, and fleeing. 

In the wake of swirling dust motes and lingering silence, Remus Lupin cursed his big mouth to the dark, empty room. 


End file.
